I Dream of Rain
by Lindir's Ghost
Summary: He won't tell her what's wrong. He never does. But when the Doctor takes Rose to C12th Africa, his secrecy proves to be a grave mistake, the like of which they have seen realised only in their darkest dreams. Ten/Rose
1. Prologue

I Dream of Rain

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Prologue

_Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths,_

_Enwrought with golden and silver light,_

_The blue and the dim and the dark cloths_

_Of night and light and the half-light,_

_I would spread the cloths under your feet:_

_But I, being poor, have only my dreams;_

_I have spread my dreams before your feet;_

_Tread softly because you tread on my dreams._

W. B. Yeats, _**Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven**_

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Life makes the most interesting twists in its tapestry.

The threads keep on coming, often plain and insignificant in their tone, dull and continuing seemingly forever. These are the threads of most living creatures, beings of habit and routine trapped in greys and browns and cocooned in much vaster things they are little aware of. And that is the way the rest of the tapestry goes for most of them, until the thread runs out. But, every now and then, Life rummages in the basket and finds a brilliantly coloured twist and decides to weave it in, just for fun. The lure is incredible and the desire to touch it insatiable for those that are blessed with colour, particularly when the monotones of previous existence make the living one question what Life thinks it's playing at.

And Rose Tyler had questioned this game all too often within her nineteen grey years trapped inside a department store and her mother's "it was good enough for me, so it's good enough for you."

Only, the colour that had entered _her_ life so unexpectedly was sometimes so brilliant it was blinding. But she _loved_ it. The buzz, the fear, the adrenaline coursing through her veins as she sprinted for her life, hand entwined with his and heart higher than the stars, ridiculous grins cracking both of their faces like splits in sanity. Nothing quite like fleeing for your life to make you happy.

And there was him. The one responsible for the fear and the running and the manic grins. The enigmatic centre of Time and Space himself, a swirling myriad of colours and life in its rawest form, the epicentre of everyone else's universe and hers all at once. He was not just one brilliant twist, he was many. The wonder and excitement of him was like a flickering candle on a windowsill in the dark, with Rose Tyler forever entranced and always close, just what the flame needed to keep burning … someone to burn _for_, someone to witness the fire and care if it got too hot, because flames do not tend to themselves in such a way. He did get too hot sometimes. She was the only one able to pull him back from the brink and quell the rage.

He did not burn all the time, though. The hyperactive energy that buzzed around him fell every now and again, and Rose had been there to glimpse its lapse and see what was hidden underneath, always when he thought she was not there to see. These lapses were few and far between, and the barriers were thrown up again in seconds as soon as he sensed her eyes. He would turn to her, and the grin would be there again, but the light would be missing, just for a while. He would never talk about it, preferring to burry himself under the troubles of entire worlds as he pulled her across the galaxies to rescue the universe in the TARDIS. She wondered how someone so fond of chatting about anything and everything could be so afraid of talking.

The wonder of worlds engulfed her, new people, new lands, new enemies. The Doctor, she found, had many of the latter, and always managed to make more: "Just in case the others ever felt a bit lonely," he had once joked flatly to her as they stood panting in the TARDIS. What had they been that time? She couldn't remember their name – she _did_ remember that they had been pink and raw-looking and rather scary, and more than a bit tetchy … particularly when the Doctor made a fly-away comment about sunburn. His enemies threatened their peace, but at the same time created it. They had, after all, found each other through them… That fantastic quirk of fate, that changing of the thread in the basement of Henrick's when the manikins attacked her. And he had grabbed her hand, his own large and rough and warm, encircling hers not too tightly. _"Run!"_

And she was still running with him. _The entire universe_, she often thought before sleep, _he has the entire universe, and he chose me._ Those were the nights when she smiled into her pillows, the nights when she thanked that day nearly two years ago when he had asked her to come with him, promising her the stars and - unlike all the other men she had ever met - delivering them, laying them at her feet and guiding her in her walk through dreams. And she knew he fed on her wonder, her complete innocence and awe. Every time he took her somewhere where he had been before, he found himself forced to look at it through her new and inexperienced eyes and rediscovered the beauty that had waited _years_ for him to see again.

But his hand was different now. His face, his shape. _He_ was different. Gone as though it had all been smoke, blown away on a cruel wind and leaving her with a stranger: a somewhat _manic_ stranger who had frightened her with his unfamiliarity and crazed operation of the TARDIS. That entire Christmas had been a true test of their relationship, even if he _had_ been unconscious for most of it. She had never questioned him before, _never_, yet during that day, Rose realised that she had no idea who he really was. She felt just as separate from him as the rest of the universe. All of those times when people questioned his identity, demanding more than "the Doctor," and she had stood there, smiling quietly to herself as though she was in on the secret. No. And it hurt her when she realised the full truth that he would _never_ tell her everything.

When he extended his hand to hers that night, new and untouched by her, awkwardness and uncertainty shivered between them in her hesitation. His eyes had pleaded with her to accept him, to go with him. _Please. Don't leave me, not now, I couldn't bare it._ Rose did not think she could bare it either, and the difference still scared her … but when she slipped her hand into his, despite the difference in the bone structure and new smoothness of the skin, it felt so _familiar_. The grip was the same, the exact gentle and reassuring warmth enveloped her skin as it had always done. This was him, this was the Doctor, and she felt safe with him, even sorry for doubting him as she leaned companionably into his side.

He needed her more than he would ever be willing to express, but he knew she knew. And that was enough, for now. It had to be.


	2. Chapter One: Desert Sands

Chapter One - Desert Sands

He refused to tell her where they were going. Her restless pacing across the grilled flooring made him grin as he leaned back in the captain's chair, hands clasped behind his head and feet crossed on the consol. He watched her chew her nails and role her thumbs in the material of her jumper cuffs, excitement and impatience bringing a multitude of expressions to her fair face. Every time she turned to him, he made sure his own was a picture of nothing more than quiet patience, smirking at her when she turned away from him with a growl of frustration.

"Why don't you just tell me where we're going?" she demanded, yet again, coming to a halt and staring at him intensely as though trying to will him into telling her.

"Because," he replied, stretching lazily and clicking his shoulders, "it wouldn't be a surprise if I did. It's somewhere you've said you've always wanted to see."

Rose cocked a brow at him. "Doctor, there are thousands of places I've told you I want to see."

"Exactly! It's one of those – you should be able to narrow it down in a while."

"If you tell me," she said slowly, changing tactic faster than he could blink and sidling up to him, bumping his shoulder with her hip, "I promise I'll still _act_ surprised. And I'll buy you bananas when you next take me home. Good ones, from Marks and Spencer's. Lots, and _lots_-" Rose lowered her lips to the Doctor's ear "-of bananas." He looked up at her, this time unable to wipe the grin away as she awaited the outcome of her promised bribe. "You have no idea how fun you're making this." Rose batted him gently over the head in rebuke and straightened her back, her arms folding loosely across her chest and just a touch of beaten defiance in the set of her mouth.

"And don't think I haven't noticed that you've made the journey stretch, either."

"Ah, all the better to tease you with, my dear."

"Why, Grandma, how dangerously close to a _slap you are_!"

She looked at him properly then as he stared back up at her, grinning boyishly, and her eyes narrowed slightly. He looked so … well, he looked _shattered_. His eyes were a little red and slightly glazed, she thought, and his skin paler than usual. "Doctor," she asked, all seriousness restored to her tone. "Are you alright?"

His brows raised in evident surprise at her question. In a blink he recovered, grinning broadly. _Throwing up the defences_, Rose thought dryly. "Yep! Fit as a Jay Lark! I'll take you to meet some of those one day, by the way: just like humans, 'cept they're purple and fly via bio-propulsion, and I think you can guess what that means!" But Rose's eyes stayed fixed on him, analysing his face and trying to read him. She looked worried. He didn't like seeing her troubled, and his attempt to dispel the thought from her mind clearly failed. Taking on a more serious note, he said: "Honestly, Rose, I'm fine. I just need a bit of a kip, is all."

Rose sighed, giving in. But she would not give up completely, and resolved to bring up the matter later when he was least expecting it. She would have the truth from him eventually, he couldn't hide forever. Deciding to change the subject, she said with a weighty and artificially bored tone: "Are we nearly there yet?"

He gave a great barking laugh and jumped from his seat, the teasing light still behind his smile as he fixed his attention on the monitor, clearly happy now that he thought he was off the hook. He calmed himself a little as he leaned over the screen, seriousness taking over as he listened intently to what his TARDIS had to tell him, and Rose felt that bubble of excitement in her chest shiver when he flashed her the ghost of a knowing glance.

--(0)--

He went to let her go out first, holding the door courteously with a dip of his head and flourish of his free hand in a theatrical bow. And her feet didn't move. For once, Rose found herself hesitating on the threshold of something new, uncertainty whispering in her ear like a wraith of dying dreams. What if whatever was out there was not what she had dreamed of? What if all those hours spent fantasising of life outside the Powell Estate were about to turn on her and throw dust in her eyes? For the first time in her new life with the Doctor, she found herself afraid of the outside, and her foot made the tiniest of betraying back steps.

His brow creased slightly and he raised his face to look her in the eye – or attempt to. Rose was making rather a valiant effort to avoid his stare. What was that he felt from her? Fear? _Dread_?

_Wow. I didn't anticipate that one_…

"It's alright. I promise." She finally watched him back, the flutter of a smile ghosting across her lips before retreating in uncertainty. Rose trusted him implicitly, really she did, but that_what if _nibbled at her audacity like shipworm on Captain Cook's nerves. "I _promise_."

He had shown her the universe, holding her hand and never letting go. He held it now, just without the touch, and she knew he would never revoke his promise to care for her and keep her safe. She nodded, fixing her resolve and lifting her chin, striding past him in a haze of terrified confidence. The Doctor smiled to himself, drawing the door closed quietly behind him.

Gold brushed her thighs light as a whisper. Rose lowered her fingers to the seeking tips of the grass, trying to confirm to herself through touch that where she walked was indeed reality. The scent wafting from the disturbed grasses was intoxicating and heady, a haunting song of earth and it was wild, so, _so_ _wild_. But when she lifted her eyes, her heart lurched and the venturing grass swayed forgotten, failing to lure her attention.

"Oh my God…"

She heard him come up behind her, feet snagging in the knotted grass as it tried to restrain his long legs from entering its lands. Warm air sighed over them, turning the wisps of her hair like a merchant inspecting gold. The expanse of grasslands meeting their feet stretched for miles and beyond, peppered with scrub and rigid trees bent like brittle old men. Mountain peaks hovered over the horizon, pale as ghosts, their snowy flanks gilded by a sun peering through cloud.

"Are we in…?"

"Africa? Yes. August 14th, 1154, to be precise, in what will one day be Kenya."

His words distracted her momentarily, though not enough for her to spare him a glance. "Why 1154?"

"No poachers. Africa's not been discovered yet – well, not by white people, at any rate. No white men, no guns, no death, no endangered species." He sighed contentedly. "Just life allowed to live."

He draped his arms over her shoulders, resting his chin lightly on her crown, and Rose leaned back into the embrace. They stood in silence, swaying gently and watching life pan before them. It was so beautiful, so wonderful… Rose's breath caught in her throat every time something moved, and she hardy dared blink in case she missed something. She hardly noticed the heat, or the fact that the sun was not fully out – she found herself grateful for that, actually. No, simply _being _here was enough for her.

Rose felt the Doctor's breath hitch in his chest. "Oh, Rose – look look look _look_!" He steered her head to their left…

It was amazing how something so large could be so perfectly graceful. Their every step seemed measured and composed, majestic in every respect as they traversed the earth they owned by right. The matriarch headed the group, her family happy to follow wherever she chose to lead them. To say that she had massive bulk about her would be unfair and misguided. She was larger than the others, but this only severed to accent her gentle grace, a mighty and fair empress surveying her lands with her loved ones. Her trunk curled just before touching the ground, occasionally pulling at the tickling grasses and taking yellowed tufts to her mouth, her ears held close over her neck. A low rumble emanated from her, and the elder members of the group seemed to reply, some raising their trunks over their heads. There were only five that Rose counted, until she spotted a calf trotting by its mother, the too-big ears flapping with enthusiasm as its trunk waved its clutched grass emphatically before it, like a child with a flag at a fair.

"Oh my God," Rose breathed, hardly able to keep the tremor of excitement from sending her voice pitch into bat-level. "There's a herd of elephants walkin' past me."

The elephants were not alone. Three giraffes trailed just behind, angular heads bobbing slightly with each loping stride. Small birds danced from their backs to those of the elephants, apparently feasting on the flies attracted to the animals.

"Rothschild giraffes," the Doctor whispered in her ear. "In your day, that's the most endangered giraffe sub-species on the planet. There's only about forty of them in the wild. 'Course, there's loads _now_…"

Rose hugged his arm a little tighter. "Y'know, when I was twelve, Mum took me to London Zoo for my birthday. I saw _everything_, and I thought it was the most fantastic thing ever – you know, like you do when you're a kid…" She paused, tugging her bottom lip with her teeth. "But _this_, seeing them here where they're meant to be, it's-" The sudden constriction in her throat forced her to stop, and she smiled in embarrassment at the threatening tears, poking a snag in his coat sleeve as she fought to quell the foolishness colouring her face.

The Doctor returned the pressure. "Rose Tyler?"

"Hmm?"

"You truly are a wonderful person." He let the statement hang, just for a moment. The wind jostled them, throwing them a thousand scents as it swept the land and sculpted the thickening clouds.

Then: "And impatient! I mean, a _bribe_! A _banana _bribe! Now that was low – brilliant, mind, and it nearly worked – but low." He knew she smiled, and grinned himself as he continued: "D'you know, I actually _pity_ your mother for what she must put up with at Christmas." She openly laughed, twisting in his arms to look him in the face, amused disbelief cocking her brow. "_You_ pity my mother for putting up with me? Cheeky git."

"Should be thankful I pity your mother at all," he said under his breath, but intentionally loud enough for her to hear.

Rose scoffed indignantly, taking herself away from him in one graceful twist and cocking a brow in mock offence. "O-ho, right, that's it. No bananas. Ever again. And so far as I see it, Mister, it's me that should be pitied putting up with you every day, sod just Christmas! Oh, and I don't know if you remember, Doctor, but you're a pain in the arse at Christmas."

The Doctor sucked his teeth, regarding her with all the moping affront of a puppy batted with a slipper for chewing said footwear. "A lesser man would be wounded by such words, Rose Tyler."

Rose merely shrugged her brows at him, grinning broadly.

"And as for the bananas, I hardly think _that's_ fair. For all you know, bananas could be vital for my Time Lord metabolism. In fact, perhaps I can _only _get potassium from bananas, and without them _perhaps_ I could die! Ha! Didn't think of that, did you?"

Rose held her ground, the corner of her mouth tilting as she stated, a little sardonically: "D'y'know what, Doctor, you could be right there. I _didn't _think of that part … oh, except I was with the previous you – remember him? Big ears, bigger built than you, leather jacket – anyway, I seem to remember he wasn't completely obsessed with bananas, so nice try."

The Doctor cocked his head at her, lips pursed in defeat. "Hmm. Touché."

"And you completely let yourself down with that argument. Bit rubbish, if you ask me. If you'd constructed it in your head first and opened your mouth later, maybe I would have been half convinced."

"Yes, alright," he huffed. "Rub it in!" Switching tone and mannerism like lightening, he extended his crooked arm to her. "Care to stay this feigned quarrel and join me in a stroll through Deepest Africa, Miss Tyler?"

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A/N: Hey guys! Hope you're enjoying it so far. Just a quick note: I don't know if any of you have realised, but the chapter titles are taken from Sting's _Desert Rose_. If you don't know the song, look it up on YouTube, it's brilliant, and my favourite song at the moment. If you don't want to listen to it, that's fine, it's not integral to the story or anything like that.

All the best,

Ghost


	3. Chapter Two: Nothing's as it seems

Chapter Two: Nothing's as it seems

Chapter Two: Nothing's as it seems

Rain was coming. The dry gusts told her as much, carrying the promise to her nostrils on their sweeping song. The little game that still remained sensed the oncoming storm, the taste of it tangible in the air. And that meant all the game was that little bit more jittery, despite the choking heat … making the task of the lioness all the harder. A pride to be fed, her own belly, her cubs to nourish with her milk. Life to fight for. Prey was difficult to come by thanks to the dead vegetation. No food for the prey, no food for the predator.

Parched earth crumbled under her silent pads, every step a reminder of her thirst. Instinct, however, pressed her stomach low and pricked her ears, honing every muscle into readiness. The dead grass, though a curse, was a blessing in moments such as this when remaining hidden for as long as possible was so vital, its skeletal state hiding her gold perfectly. The breeze shifted slightly, pluming the warthog's scent enticingly under her nose. A dangerous kill, but, if it could be done, then a worthwhile one. The others were close, sealing off routes of escape. It _could_ be done…

The wind shifted again. What it brought to her this time, however, was neither what she expected nor recognised, even remotely. She was a seasoned hunter, the ruling predatory power of the plains for seven years. There was _nothing_ she had not encountered. Her senses peaked as her unease at the unknown began to spike through her already tense mind -

- something moved.

The cat started, switching the direction of her gaze quicker than the warthog noticed. She paid it no heed as it bolted, tail high in the air and bristling. There was something close to her, something she did not know and couldn't see.

It frightened her.

Silence, complete and too great to be normal. The lioness remained low, pressing her ears back against her broad skull, claws spread and fangs bared in the only way she knew to defend herself, a rasping hiss of promising threat breaking the oppressive silence.

And then it rushed her. Grass flattened underneath an invisible force, racing for her. Her frightened roar became a sharp scream as whatever it was hit her.

As quickly as it began, it stopped. The other three lionesses, who had scrambled in fear to the grass-clear heart of a dried watering hole, paced uncertainly, missing their mother and hunting leader. One of them, always the bolder of the three, padded tentatively to the rim of their open shelter. Her amber eyes took in the stillness where she knew their mother should be. She smelt the blood, and the odour of _something _else, that something they had all caught in their noses. Daring herself, she ventured into the grassy fringe. She called softly, again and again. No reply. The grass deepened to shoulder-level as she skulked closer. Another couple of paces and her mother's golden hide became visible, bloodied and too still. A tentative call…

The _something_ rushed her, grabbing her face. The lioness reared and threw herself back. Pain flared through her as claws sharp as her own dug in, but she did not allow the fright to stop her fighting back: a swipe at where she thought the back should be and the unseen terror let go. She took this opportunity to bolt. The other two, who had been rooted to the dusty spot in terror at the sight of their sister being attacked by an animal they could not see, recovered their wits at her return, and ran with her, all three of them finding the energy they needed in their starving state to flee from their fear.

--(0)--

There were fewer animals than Rose had expected. Not that it mattered to her: she was in _Africa._ The Doctor had explained to her that they had come at the very end of the dry season, when any life that had survived the drought generally laid low. The herds were in different pastures, but they would be back, he said, when there was water and fresh grazing. "Which'll be soon," he noted, glancing skywards as the clouds grumbled at them. "Hope you brought your mac."

Rose scoffed. "Can you see me in a mac?" She prayed he hadn't seen the brilliant pink one with yellow polka dots hanging in her room, the one her mother had got her three Christmases ago.

The Doctor grinned at her, that horrible knowing grin he reserved for moments such as this. "Well … I _can_ see you in one. Didn't know you were into Barbie pink _and_ polka dots…"

Rose scowled at him. "For your information," she said in a clipped tone, "my Mum got me that."

The Doctor chuckled. "I bet she did. I love your Mum sometimes."

The TARDIS was out of sight, and had been for some time. Rose trusted that the Doctor's telepathic link with his ship would enable him to 'sense' his way back to her. Their stroll through "deepest Africa" had taken them along the pathway scored through the grass by the elephant's passage: the Doctor was curious to see where they were going, and Rose was more than happy to accompany him. She loved the elephants – it was just remembering to stay quiet she struggled with when excitement bubbled so relentlessly in her chest.

The pathway chosen by the elephants took them through a crop of rocks and trees, the trunks jarred and twisted like arthritic limbs. A hornbill eyed Rose from the umbrella-like canopy of an acacia, head to the side and long lashes flashing over the pale eye as it blinked critically at her, long curved bill shinning dully in the daylight. Too busy watching the bird, Rose walked on the Doctor's stationary heel and thudded into his back. She made to apologise, but he silenced her with a gesture. "Look at the elephants," he toned softly.

There was something wrong. The matriarch flapped her ears and backed up on herself. Her trunk raised as she swayed her head, rumbling at her family in a completely different pitch to earlier, an oddly unnerving noise to Rose's ears. The others obviously listened to her. The mother of the calf was the first to turn back, pushing her infant before her. The baby was more than willing to comply, huddling against his mother with his ears down, his tuft of flag-grass lying forgotten in the dust and soon to be trampled by the rest of the herd as the animals picked up speed -

"Run!" The Doctor spun, grabbing Rose by the hand and dragging her into a run before she could think to act upon his order. Dust and stone flew into her trainers as they sprinted off the path. The Doctor flung them both behind a bolder, just as the herd flew passed. He held her down firmly until they were gone, covering her protectively despite knowing it would be of little effect should the herd come their way. Red dust clouded in the aftermath of the animals' flight, choking them and colouring every inch of them like rust.

"Rose?"

"'M fine," came a muffled response. They stayed perfectly still. Then: "Doctor, the elephants are gone."

"Yes? What's your point?"

"You can let me up now."

"Oh. Sorry…"

He helped her to her feet, not releasing her hand as they continued to walk in the direction the herd had originally been travelling, the Doctor driven by a sudden need to find out what had upset the animals so much. Such large, dominant creatures, animals that need fear nothing in lands that they effectively ruled. What could have upset them so much as to cause them to flee? They reached the point where the matriarch had panicked … and then he felt it. Something was very definitely wrong, he could feel it in the earth under his feet. The air sighed with heavy warning to him, and the hair on his neck and scalp raised as inexplicable fear washed over him. The Doctor shuddered. Rose felt it in his grip and stopped, smiling lightly and raising her brow inquisitively. She watched his face carefully, waiting for him to shrug off the odd tremor with a quick quip and a grin. When he failed to do so, however, the smile started to fade into concern.

He did not look at her, instead analysing their surroundings sharply. His face had paled under its coat of red dust. A cold clench took over his stomach and every muscle tensed slightly. He didn't blink. He couldn't.

Rose rubbed the back of his hand gently. "Hey," she said softly. "Doctor, come back to me. Please?"

The Doctor pulled himself back at her plea, dragging his eyes to hers. She allowed herself a grim inward smile: he would always come back to her if she asked. His return was not what she expected, however: no joke, or even a word – he wrapped her hand tighter in his own and proceeded to walk with her down the track, holding her close. The pressure of his grip was a little uncomfortable, but Rose bore it with grace, not wanting to break contact with him for the world. She had seen the fear in his face. Rarely had such a look come into his features and so plainly … perhaps it was the lack of guard that made her gut twinge that little bit. So unlike him ... she had to admit to herself that it scared her.

Memories stirred, a seething nest of serpents fighting their way to his consciousness, memories he had spent years pushing down and flooding with his new life with Rose. They had visited him before, by prompt of a word or a smell, or an unexpected confrontation with an enemy from his past. But _this_, this was excruciating as they all reared their ugly heads at once, trying to sink the venom of his former life into him in one massive bombardment. He could see images rushing his mind, and the terror they instilled in him was more difficult to force down than even the memories.

Where was this coming from? He was never susceptible to fear like this – they hadn't even _seen_ anything yet – and he hadn't felt fear at this level of intensity since the Time War. What was happening to him? Was it something in the air? Whatever it was, he was more than certain that whatever was affecting him now was the same thing that had upset the elephants. Even with the rationality of his thoughts, the terror kept pressing him. It was all he could do to keep moving, and he held Rose's hand like a lifeline to sanity. That was what she was, what she had always been: his anchor to life, his only hold on his mind to keep him from teetering over the edge.

His only reason to still be alive.

_Now I've gone morbid_, he thought scathingly – which heartened him a little. Criticising himself was always a good thing, in his opinion…

They reached a slight incline, a bank of no more than four feet composed of stone and solid earth, caked into a vice-like strangling security over tree roots that ventured into the open air. The Doctor scaled the bank in a couple of bounds, pulling Rose up with him and relying on her to keep her footing as he moved. They reached the level of the plain and stood still for a moment, the Doctor analysing their surroundings. Rose was analysing something completely different, and with mounting concern. The Doctor did not notice her eyes observing his face with the same intensity as they had earlier that day in the TARDIS. She eventually took her eyes from him and stared around her as he was doing. A chill licked at her spine, and, without thinking, she huddled into his side.

"It's so quiet…"

The Doctor gave her hand a light squeeze and moved forward. She was right, of course. It was far too quiet. No birds, no animals, not even insects pestering them for blood. There was no wind either, not a breath. The air hung heavily around them, thick and hot. Rose felt her chest strain against the weight it was suddenly made to bare. The Doctor showed no signs that he felt the same effects. His focus lay, instead, in the crushed grass. His feet slowed to a stop. "Oh, I'm sorry. So, so sorry."

Rose, puzzled by the weight of sadness in his tone, looked to where the Doctor's gaze fell … and felt the blood drain from her face. She lifted her hands to her mouth, little aware of the gathering tears.

The Doctor slowly advanced to the side of the lioness. His fingers stretched to her golden flank, stroking the small amount of unmarred fur gently, wondering over the contours. There was life here, fluttering under his fingertips in a vain attempt to keep going. Each slow breath was a desperate struggle against pain and death. The Doctor tried to ignore the tacky feeling under his Converses. He couldn't ignore the ripped flesh, though, nor the fact that the poor animal, once a magnificent and successful predator, had been felled in such a cruel manner and left to die, alone.

Rose joined him, crouching by his side. "Another lion?"

"No – see these gashes? The cuts are too far apart and too deep to be the work of another lion, even a male. A lion's main tool for making a kill is its teeth, not the claws. They use those more to hold on. Whatever did this would have hands rather than paws, a bit -"

"Like a Slitheen?"

"Yes. Like a Slitheen."

Without questioning whether it was safe to do so, she placed her hand on the lioness's face and stroked the uninjured cheek. "Can you help her?"

The Doctor felt the pure compassion and grief in his companion's voice clench his hearts. He did not answer, but raised his fingers to the great cat's temples. He could give her release, but he had to know first. He needed to know that he was wrong, that this was not what he feared…

Images jolted through his consciousness as the lioness poured everything into him. There was no holding back, not like there always was with humans, no hesitation. He saw her cubs, weakening from lack of milk, and the remaining members of the pride. He watched the hunt, watched the warthog through her eyes. Then he saw the end. He wanted to shrink back, draw his hands away from the horror she had felt. But he had to hold on. He had to know. The pain was like an explosion as the invisible force tore into her. The Doctor didn't feel the pain itself, but the shadow of it that he caught was strong enough to make him gasp. Then he saw everything else…

That was enough. The Doctor closed his mind off to the lioness, and passed deeper than her subconscious, right into the very core. Another breath, then he ended it for her.

The Doctor's eyes opened. A couple of deep slow breaths to steady his hearts, then he got to his feet. He knew what had happened here. He knew everything. He barely repressed the shudder. Now he understood the fear he had felt: it had been from the lioness during the attack, so frightened that part of her mind quite literally fled into the air and affected all other life capable of sensing higher waves – like himself and the elephants. But this kind of act by an _animal_ alone was impossible. There was something else to it, something not from Earth. And the Doctor knew exactly what it was.

Africa had suffered a major wound in the felling of a predator by a being out of the natural order, and it needed healing. But, right now, the danger was far too present for him to hold Africa as his main concern. It was still here somewhere, watching. He had to get Rose back to the TARDIS before it could happen again. "Rose."

She looked up at him, her hand still caressing the face of the dead lioness. Rose didn't move. "But the lion…"

"She's gone, Rose, there's nothing we can do. We've got to go. Now." Impatience bit at his already fraying resolve. Why did she have to pick _now_ to argue with him? Right _now_, when the same danger to which the lioness had fallen lingered so close?

"We can't just leave her-"

"_Now_, Rose!"

She started at his sudden snap. Her lips parted slightly, her eyes staring up at him like he had just slapped her. She stood, about to speak, but he grasped her hand and pulled her into a run. She remembered her mother grabbing her hand like that when she was eight. The Doctor's grip was tight, pinching the back of her hand where his fingers met, but he never gave her the chance to retaliate, dragging her over the grassy plain and baring little regard for the scrub they encountered. Dry twigs snatched at their legs as he hauled her through them, and Rose felt the cuts dragged out over her shins. The Doctor didn't pause at her protests. Her lungs strained for oxygen from the oppressive air, and she pleaded with him for some reprieve, but he was unrelenting in their forced run, never explaining why they fled. There was nothing back near the body of the lioness, she was sure of it, she would have seen a great beast capable of killing a lion, for crying out loud! But he didn't listen to her, pulling her after him like a reluctant dog being forced to accompany its owner in the rain.

Rose hardly registered the earth they covered. But she did register the blue police box silhouetted against the boiling sky. And so did the Doctor. He hauled the TARDIS key from a pocket, chancing a glance behind them…

It was coming. Something pelted down their beaten tracks, flattening the grass brutally beneath it. His hearts skipped in fear. "_Faster_!" He dragged Rose roughly into a flat-out sprint, readying the key. They were close, so close, mere feet now, come on, _come on_-

He knew it was about to happen. The Doctor skirted round Rose's back and grabbed her, just as an invisible force collided with his back. He screamed into her hair as claws ripped his shoulder and they went flying into the grass just before the TARDIS. Rose felt the air gush from her lungs as her chest impacted with the hard ground and the combined weights of the Doctor and whatever attacked them crushed down on her momentarily. The beast rolled over them, carried too far by its speed and the force of its impact with its intended victims. The high velocity of the motion took it past the wooden flank of the TARDIS, ripping grass and dust from the earth. The Doctor didn't pause, throwing himself to his feet and dragging Rose up once again. His hand shook as he fumbled with the lock, panic mounting as he heard the invisible beast growl in frustration and find its feet. It began to run again -

Rose saw the grass flattening beneath the unseen danger. She clutched the Doctor tightly in terror, digging her nails in the flesh of his arm. "Doctor, hurry up, it's comin'!"

The key scraped around the brass keyhole, his hand was shaking too hard -

"Doctor, _it's comin_'!"

She could hear it snorting now as it barrelled closer –

"DOCTOR!" Before she knew what she was doing, Rose seized the Doctor's hand and rammed the key home. Her hand pushed him firmly in and away from her, twisting her body to slam the door. Almost instantly, there was an almighty crash outside as their pursuer slammed into the door. She heard the beast bellow in frustration and move around the TARDIS, throwing its weight into the wood panelling and slashing at it with its claws. Her skin moved horribly as she listened to the echo of it through the ship's corridors as it assaulted every angle it could access. But there was no way it could get in.

Eventually, the siege came to a stop.

Rose gave a tense laugh and patted a column affectionately. "God save the TARDIS," she sighed. "Well. That was close, wasn't it, Doctor?"

There was no response.

"Doctor?"

_Oh God. _The Doctor sat on the control column's plinth. His face was completely colourless and twisted with agony. He rocked himself stiffly as his right arm cradled his left. And Rose saw why. His left side was darkening wetly. She could just see the beginnings of a series of deep gashes just over his shoulder. Her legs took her to him instantly, and she placed one hand on his uninjured shoulder to support him, leaning behind him. What she saw made her own face drain. "Oh my God…"

Rose came back to his front, sitting back on her haunches and staring, frightened, into his face. His eyes were practically aflame with pain when they fixed with Rose's own. To her disbelief, the Doctor made a valiant attempt at a grin. Air hissed through his clenched teeth as he fought back an agonised wail. And then the Doctor chuckled, somehow finding it within himself to do so. "Ow."


	4. Chapter Three: I Dream of Fire

**Author's Note:** Hello! Sorry this has been so long in coming, I've been rather busy, and this has proved a difficult chapter to get down! However, because it's late, it's a _huge_ chapter, so should keep you all going for a bit! Many thanks to my gracious reviewers, and to those who have favourited this story; it always makes me happy to learn that my work is appreciated!

I should probably give you a little warning that quite a large amount of this chapter is unpleasant - you all know what happened in the last chapter, so I think you can guess!

Chapter Three: I Dream of Fire

Rose gave a high-pitched laugh that leaned dangerously close to hysteria. "_Ow_?!" She raked a hand through her hair, feeling the panic tightening her chest. _Alright, Rose_, the calm and collected side of her said. _Chill. Think for a moment. He needs you to think_. There was a large part of her that struggled with that notion, wanting something of a continuation of that near-hysteria. She would do anything for him, anything in the universe, but _this_?

_But the TARDIS can do it. _That was true. Life with the Doctor, though thrilling and wonderful, was dangerous: more times than she could count, they had ended up in the infirmary because something had gotten at her with a sharp implement of some form, and on each and every occasion, the Doctor had healed her. Completely healed, not simply cleaned and dressed. The technology the Doctor housed within his time machine was more amazing than words could accurately depict.

"Infirmary, come on." _That's it, take charge…_

The Doctor managed to raise his eyebrows, creasing his alarmingly white forehead at her incredulously. His breathing came in short, shallow bursts. He could feel the wetness of blood over his skin and the scorching fire of pain shooting through his shoulder and back with every breath. She was right: his Rose was always right. That was the best place for him, he knew that, she knew that. But _getting there_ was going to be something else entirely. "Rose-" The Doctor hissed sharply at the fresh agonised wave that tore through him with the single word. He gripped his arm tighter. "Rose," he tried again, speaking through his teeth, "I won't be able – I can't…" He clenched his jaw so tightly to hold back the scream he thought his teeth would crack.

"It's alright," she said forcefully, smoothing his hair in a desperate attempt to comfort him. "I'll help you up, yeah? We'll get there, and then you tell me what to do, okay?" She placed her hand against his cheek. The Doctor leaned his head into the comforting touch, not wanting it to leave his face, unaware of the tears breaking on her fingers. But the hand left him, and the next thing he knew, her arm was slipping beneath his underarm. She shuffled closer into his body, bracing her legs and straightening her back. "Grab on to me and pull yourself up if you need to, alright? Ready? Right: one – two – _three._" Rose stood steadily, pulling him onto his feet. The Doctor screamed out but stood with her. His right hand shot round her hip and gripped. She had anticipated that he would do that, but she still had to bite down on her lip as his fingers clamped down on her flesh. She got him all the way up, then managed to twist herself lithely under his arm to support him, snaking her arm round his waist. He let go of her then and held the hand she offered him. Rose tried to ignore the staining on the grilling as she turned him gently and walked him to their salvation.

The Doctor's vision blackened from the pain and the sudden change in height. His head felt horribly light, and he gripped Rose tighter as the threat of fainting pressed him. Shock was on the horizon with the huge blood loss he knew he had incurred. He didn't have long before he would black out, and there would be no coming out of it alive, not without regenerating. There another life would go as his body fought ironically to keep him alive, leaving Rose with practically a complete stranger again. He couldn't do that to her, not again, not when their relationship had only recently recovered from the dangerous tear it had suffered the last time…

The infirmary was not far from the control room, but to the Doctor the short stretch of grilled corridor felt impossibly long as his feet struggled to keep him walking. The blackness reached further across his mind, the persistent siren-like song of unconsciousness trying to guide him to destruction. "Rose…"

"Alright, nearly there," she managed, his sagging weight becoming harder for her to bear on her shoulder with every step. "'S just down here…"

Stumbling through the doorway of the infirmary became one of the top accomplishments of Rose's life. Her lips forced their way into a grin, and guiding the Doctor to the nearest bed and setting him down on it was not nearly as difficult as conquering the corridor had been…

Blood was something Rose was not afraid of. She never had been, and needles were of no problem to her, either. Her mother was just the same, taking the typical motherly approach to any injury; Rose supposed that was where she got it from, her ability to play nurse. Travelling with the Doctor, while exhilarating and wondrous, was also highly dangerous, and there were more occasions than she cared to count where she had ended up cleaning some wound or other of the Doctor's, while he sat moaning about how fine he was and that she was making too much fuss over nothing, all the while fidgeting with the aggravation caused by the offending injury and wincing like she was poking him with a large and pointy stick. Loved playing at the doctor role, but never the patient.

The fact that he sat before her now in complete silence, to Rose, was more worrying than all the blood.

But the blood was, of course, a massive problem. Only once the jacket and shirt where cut away could Rose really appreciate how serious this truly was. The length of the three wounds was horrible enough, made all the worse by the fact that she could see the deeply gouged bone of his shoulder blade glimmering wetly. She could even see the breaks, the bone all but shattered. This must have been the point where the creature – whatever it had been – had used the Doctor's back as a springboard. The wounds gradually became shallower from that point until they stopped at the small of his back. Rose couldn't even begin to imagine the pain he must have been in as he sat there, cradling his arm and silently focusing on a point somewhere past the reality of the TARDIS infirmary while she gently cleansed. She had heard about soldiers talking to their wounded friends in the field to keep them awake and to try and take their minds off the pain. Rose talked of everything and anything she could think of, her voice constant and steady. All she could hope was that it helped, even in the smallest way, though she seriously doubted that her words even registered with him...

He fought for consciousness now, clinging only loosely to the lip of darkness, soon to fall down into the pit. His head lolled occasionally, and his cheek merely tingled when Rose slapped at his face, calling loudly to bring him back. He had to stay with her, he knew that, but it was so difficult fighting back the black fog that was trying so hard to take him. If he slept now, he would never wake again. _I wonder what it's like? To be quiet and still forever-_

Something prickled at his mind somewhere.

… _No more ghosts, no more hurt. Nothing can hurt when you're dead, can it? That'd be nice. No more pain. I'm tired. So, so tired…_

Another buzz on his cheek, this time stronger than before. Did that mean she slapped him hard? He wasn't overly bothered, yet found himself amused by the idea of her hand print being emblazoned on his face. He chuckled dryly, but chuckling was painful, so that stopped as quickly as it started.

"_Doctor_!"

He opened his eyes – had he closed them? – and strained to focus on his friend's face. _She looks like a ghost_. That thought was frightening, seeing Rose as a ghost. He made himself concentrate, and Rose became a more solid image of reality. Those fantastic tawny eyes were dark with upset, and the plea that rang through her frantic voice mirrored in them so brilliantly that she dazzled him for a moment. _Like the Vortex, only brighter. _No matter were he went, she could always call him back to her, back running through fire…

"God, you're like your mother."

It lifted him a little to see her break into a smile, the distant warmth of her hand grasping his own making him realise that he was actually cold.

"You have to tell me what to do now." Her firm urgency was barely enough to hold his attention. Sensation became more dimmed by the minute – nice in one respect, because the pain felt as though it was passing. But there was a tiny voice in the back of his mind telling him that he was dying, and then would come the need to regenerate, an option he was not willing to take: better to die now than to leave Rose with a complete stranger again. The emergency protocol would make the TARDIS take her home, safe and alive to her mother –

"Doctor, _please_!"

His mind came back. His eyes had closed again, and this time when he looked at her, the trails following the curve of her face stabbed at his soul.

"'M sorry, Rose – in that cabinet, there's … there's a glass cylinder…"

Following his gaze, Rose fixed upon where she thought the Doctor must mean. A squat yet ornate oak cabinet stood along side the lengthy counter that appeared more in fitting with the TARDIS interior. Upon opening the heavy doors, Rose found herself to be little surprised that the interior was larger than the opposite. There was no time to appreciate this small wonder in all its contradictory glory, however, and her eyes quested for what she needed. The glass cylinder in question sat in its own glass casing, and as soon as her eyes rested on it, she knew what its contents were. It was like picking up a sunrise as she took the flask in her hands, carrying it as though she had Life itself cocooned in her fingers. The nanogenes brightened against the glass and became more active as though excited by the prospect of use; they reminded Rose of dogs dancing around at the mention of "walkies" – and then her heart stopped when she turned back to him.

Had he been even barely conscious, the position should have hurt him, but instead he lay perfectly still. Rose nearly dropped the nanogenes in fright as she flew to his side, flinging herself to her knees to level with his drained face. She slapped hard, even pinched the earlobe he was so fond of tugging until it bled a scarlet crescent. Wherever he was, her panicked screams were not reaching him. She thought fleetingly of the attacking Christmas tree. He had been sick then, but he still came back to her when she asked, practically coming out of a coma because _she _asked it of him. Now she sobbed for him, but his dark eyes still kept her out. There was no bounce back.

On trying so desperately to get him to react to her, Rose had managed to forget the nanogenes, teeming so fitfully in their glass prison when they could sense the work that was to be done. Rose's mind threw them to the forefront of her consciousness like a bolt of lightening in a blue sky. Her hands found the cylinder and grasped it shakily, pulling the stop on salvation with her teeth because she could not trust her tremulous hands to do the job…

The second the bung popped, it was like she released the sun; the nanogenes soared from their casing and practically launched themselves at the Doctor's exposed back, coating the wounds with brilliant light as they worked. She could hardly watch as bone, flesh and skin knitted back together with a preternatural glow.

And that was it.

The Doctor's eyes snapped open, his body jolting as he filled his lungs with air again. He gasped and choked, and Rose was there for him, sitting herself on the bed and lying him flat, holding his head in her lap and smoothing his face, trying to reassure him through his panicked gasping. Distantly, she heard a low humming start up, and some part of her realised that the TARDIS had upped the oxygen levels. _Clever girl_.

He began to steady down, his breathing becoming less desperate and losing the wide-eyed panic. The Doctor swallowed, and looked around him properly for the first time since he regained consciousness. His seeking gaze finally found Rose looking down on him. A broad grin cracked his still pale face. "Hello." His voice sounded like a dried bean pod breaking up, but she didn't care. That old wave of cheek was back in his tone, like a bird rejuvenated after the last of the winter snows.

Rose laughed, a relieved tear falling into his hair before she could stop it. "Hi."

--(())--

External life signs checks yielded nothing of the invisible beast. Darkness had fallen, and the rains had started. He had so wanted to show her the start of the rain, wanted her to see the curtains of water rapidly veil off their clear view of the far mountains. He had wanted her to feel that fresh, cool rush that raced from the downpour _just_ before the rain hit you along with the rest of the world. Still. The moment was passed, ruined beyond the point of return, and there was nothing to be done for it.

The Doctor sighed shallowly. He wanted to make it deeper, but he knew Rose was watching with hawk-like attentiveness. The nanogenes had done a fantastic job of mending his wounds, but his body was bone-weary from its recent trauma, and he needed a good, deep sleep to fully recover. He needed a _long_ sleep, human-long, a Rose-on-a-Saturday long.

It was the last thing in the universe he wanted to do.

He had confessed to her before landing that he needed a 'bit of a kip.' In reality, it was far more than that. The Doctor had staved off sleep for nearly three months now. Right now, he avoided sleeping like he tried to avoid Daleks. In truth, loath as he was to say it, the Doctor was deeply afraid of the darkness.

But Rose, oh so wonderfully observant Rose, had seen the sigh, and she didn't care what he said. She knew what he needed, watching him with the strong maternal eye she had inherited from Jackie. The reason for his mulish stubbornness was less apparent to her, but she was determined to discover its root, although not right now. She also desperately wanted to ask about the invisible beast, but she appreciated how taxed he was, watching his hands move with unnatural languidness over the controls.

"Doctor."

"Hmm?" He was looking pointedly at a monitor, like a child knowing full well it was past bedtime, yet wanting to appear engrossed in an activity in an attempt to feign innocence.

"You need to go to bed."

"Nah, fit as a Jay Lark now! Have I mentioned those before?" There was only silence, but he could feel the eyes glaring at him from across the consol.

"Bed."

He actually winced. The Doctor dared a glance at her, and fervently wished he hadn't. There she was, all Jackie _and_ Rose Tyler, arms crossed and weight on one hip, her eyes searing as though trying to burn the command into him. "I'm fine."

He chanced another look: she raised a brow incredulously at him, her mouth a flat line. Cybermen and Daleks. Attacking together with whole hordes of Werewolves. Much better to face than a reproachful Tyler. "I – erm – think I might just go and … lie down … for a bit…"

Rose gave a sickly smile. "Yeah. I think that's a _really_ good idea."

--(())--

_The damp cold bit down on his flesh like a vice. It penetrated his very essence with its spite, and he would have wrapped himself tighter in his coat, except all he had to his shoulders was the pale blue shirt that had been ruined by the invisible beast and his own blood._

_The sound his Converses made on the wide broken road shrank back at him from the thick air. He wanted to run, but there was nothing to run to for salvation – he could not have run if he had wanted to, anyway, his legs feeling like boneless lumps. The ruined limestone buildings lining the grey track offered little shelter to him, not that he wished to enter their walls, anyway. Although he could see everything there was to their decaying structures, there was something about them, something lying in wait for him. They wreaked of fear, and the unbridled terror they inflicted on him made his soul quake. The marrow grass spiking between their tumbling flanks listed into the mist as though beckoning something forward-_

Rose felt something, like a slight _nudge_ at the back of her mind. Her eyes fluttered, and she decided to ignore it, rolling over and burying her head deeper into the pillow. But the _nudge_ became more persistent, almost desperate, and she found herself sitting up to it now, listening-

_And something did come._

_The shapes drifted toward him through the grey mire, seeping from the walls of the ruins and he tried to run, but his legs couldn't take him from his hellish trap. The road went on and on like this forever, he knew. The terror enveloped him completely as the tall shapes became people, all of them from his past, all of them loved ones he had lost, or foes he had encountered. All of them spectres, grey as the surrounding stone. He tried desperately to shrink back from them, screaming his terrified despair into the clogged air, only no sound escaped his lips. He spun, and the worst vision of all approached-_

It was the TARDIS that had woken her. The tone to the ship's normal background hum was different, almost distressed, Rose fancied. And then she heard the screams-

_Rose staggered for him, her blonde hair clad with dirt and blood. Her eyes, always so brilliant, were going out like choked lamps in the fog. She stumbled into him, clasping his arms and dragging him with her. His coat was plastered darkly to her, and she moaned his name over and over, asking him how could have let this happen to her? If he loved her, why was he letting her die? There was blood, so much blood everywhere, and he didn't know what to do. The spectres pressed down on him, choking the life out of the both of them-_

Rose shot out of bed, grabbing her dressing gown as she sprinted through the door. The sounds ripping through the corridor made the hair rise on her neck and arms. She had _never_ heard anything like it in her life, but when her own name reverberated through the TARDIS, her blood chilled-

_He screamed for her, crying her name, his voice clawing at the pressing air like a crazed animal trapped. She slipped from him anyway, her skin greying her out into another of the surrounding wraiths-_

Rose flung his bedroom door open, feeling her heart clench at the sight that greeted her. The Doctor was deep in the throws of an obvious nightmare, tangled in bed sheets with his hair plastered to his forehead by fear sweat. Rose clambered onto the bed, lifting him as she had done earlier, desperately smoothing his damp face and trying to wake him.

"Doctor, wake up, please wake up! It's only a dream, come on, you can come out of it."

He still tossed violently, an arm nearly flying into her face. She kept her hold, soothing and trying to call him out of the trap his own mind had manufactured for him, and she thought she made some headway when he stopped the violent thrashing. But, rather than waking up, the Doctor began to cry, heartbroken and ruined. What got Rose the most was that he sobbed her name…

"Rose, please, I'm so sorry! I'm sorry – _please_!" The last was said with an agonised wail.

"Oh, I'm right here," she said hopelessly into his hair. "Just wake up, Doctor, come on…"

Rose could never describe the relief that coursed through her when his eyes opened. Every muscle was like rock, and he shook violently. A moment to bring himself back to the Land of the Waking, and he locked eyes with her. His eyes, so wet from sobbing, fixed on her face and registered that she was in fact there with him. "Rose," he breathed, taking her up into a desperate embrace, holding her close and breathing in the scent of her, crying and shaking as though he had just lost his dearest loved one.

Rose rocked him, soothing the back of his head. "Hey, shhh, it's alright, it's over. It's alright."

The Doctor eventually calmed. His exhaustion got the better of him, and he lay back down at the other side of the bed, with Rose's coaxing. She rearranged the sheets and slipped in beside him, deeming it best not to leave him alone again. He was on his side, facing her. She snuggled up to him, hooking an arm protectively round his back. He was nearly asleep again, but found her and hugged her tightly to him, relaxing only slightly when sleep finally took him back.

Rose remained awake for some time, watching him carefully to ward off the dreams should there be any sign of them coming back. She wondered what he could possibly have dreamt to have been so utterly afraid. Well, whatever it was, she was certain she had discovered the reason behind his recent unwillingness to rest, and she resolved that she would never let it get him again. Despite resisting herself, Rose succumbed to the remainder of the sleep she had been formerly enjoying.


	5. Chapter Four: I wake in vain

**Author's Note: **This is a quick update, I know - I've got three essays to write in the next month, so, basically, I've been getting this chapter out of my system so that I can get on with some work! I hope you all enjoy it - the characters hijacked the plot, it was never going to go this way! Please tell me if you think I should whip them next time they try it, or let them carry on...

--

Chapter Four: I wake in vain

It didn't surprise her when she woke alone the next morning, not even remotely, but she could not help the feeling of disappointment that made her sigh into his pillow. The bed was cold where he had lain, and Rose shivered as images of the previous night forced their way to her attention. Finding herself unable to stay, she moved noiselessly back into her room, showering and hoping that the hot water could at least wash some of the worry away.

He was secretive. He had always been secretive, save for the odd small lapse. Initially it had irritated her, but now it concerned her. Deeply. If he was having night terrors, the best way to expel them was to talk about what he feared. _Easier said than done._ If she approached him, even silently, he would know exactly what she was going to say, and would hide himself behind barricades of wit and jabber about different races he had met. There was also the I-can't-hear-you trick, an infuriating trait he had taken up quite recently. Was it a man-thing? Or was it a Doctor-thing? Mickey – love him - _tried_ to be an enigma, seeing the dark-and-brooding type as being his masculine calling, but he failed miserably with every girlish yelp and each complaining whine. He was, inadvertently, the most open man Rose had ever encountered.

The Doctor, however, bottled everything up as though he felt the universe would shatter under the weight of his secrets. If Rose so much as mentioned anything concerning his past, his eyes would darken briefly, and he would look at her as though she had drawn a dagger on him, and then the walls would be thrown up, and that would be it.

But whatever played on his mind at the moment was giving him nightmares, and it was no longer a simple case of: "No, it doesn't matter", or: "I'm fine." She would not accept that as his answer and let him hide the reasons from her. It mattered more to Rose than finding out what the formless beast was that had slain the lioness and attacked them. It mattered more to her than seeing the universe, even. Something was hurting him. She could not bear to see him hurt…

Rose decided, as she clambered out of the shower, that making him talk was the best solution. Perhaps not forcefully – she regretted pushing him into going to bed the previous night, considering what had followed – but definitely with _persistence_, accompanied by a mug of tea, two heaped sugars, just as he liked it…

She decided on wearing blue, emerging into the kitchen some twenty minutes later in a blue shirt and jeans, her hair in a tight plait. "'Mornin'," she yawned artificially in an attempt to give off an air of drowsiness - if he was under the illusion she was still half asleep, then perhaps he would keep the guard down a bit longer.

"'Morning, Rose!" His voice was chipper, but he would not quite meet her eye as he leaned casually back into the work surface, munching a piece of toast without a plate. Evidently, Rose was not the only one trying to pass off illusions. She feigned not noticing, all part of the still being asleep ploy, and put the kettle on. "Cuppa?"

"Please."

She busied herself with the mugs. "We need more milk," she observed, swishing the low contents of the bottle for his attention so that he would have to look at her.

"Oh – I'll whack it on the list later."

Silence dominated between them, punctuated by the chinking of mugs and crunching of toast crust. Awkwardness crept between them, each having the same thing on their mind, and each having a completely different idea of how to address it – the Doctor's idea of how to address it, of course, was to not address it at all. He knew Rose wanted to 'have a word', and did not trust her apparent sleepiness one iota.

The tea made, Rose placed both mugs on the breakfast counter before relative stools. A direct invitation to sit, and one that he could not politely refuse. _Damn._ "Which one's me?"

"Green."

The Doctor parked himself unceremoniously into his seat, making sure to keep an air about him that suggested he was there for tea only and was soon to bolt off. He knew it would not work, but he had to have a go anyway. The tea scolded his tongue, but he continued to drink, inspecting the lowering level of liquid between sips.

"Doctor -"

"- Did I ever take you to Balsis Six? Brilliant little planet, Balsis Six, run completely by-"

"Don't. Please, just don't."

He shifted, raising his eyes to her for a long moment. Her eyes were soft, nowhere near the stern expression he _wanted_ to see. It broke his resolve down a little.

"Last night -" the Doctor visibly flinched "- wasn't just a one-off, was it?"

He sagged down a little in his seat. The sleep he had managed to get the night before had hardly lifted the weariness from his face. He looked as though he felt ill, actually. A sigh escaped him before he even thought to hold it back, and when he eventually lifted his eyes to her, a shadow of last night passed over them, and a dull echo of a long felt misery sounded in his single "No."

She left him to continue. He shuffled, clearly wanting nothing more than to be freed of this torture so that he could escape to a tight hole under the consol and not come out again for the rest of the day. _Or a week, a week sounds good._

"I just have – bad dreams, sometimes. That's it, really." He raked a hand through his hair, wishing he could look anywhere else than her expectant eyes.

"I think we both know they're a bit more than just 'bad dreams,'" Rose toned. "Surely if you talk about what's bothering you, it would help, right? Just tell me."

He stared at her incredulously. How could he _just tell her_? What made it so simple, in her view, that he could simply discuss everything with her, and it would all be fine and dandy? How could he tell her of the horrors that chased him through sleep and infiltrated his waking mind like some kind of all-consuming disease? How could he tell her that he dreamed of losing her every time he slept, that he had seen her horrific death every time he tried to snatch even a couple of minutes? How could he explain to her that _she_ was his greatest fear? "I can't."

"Why?" The smallest edge of affront wormed its way into her voice. "Don't you trust me?"

That stung. The Doctor stiffened, anger raising its gnarled head at the accusation he heard in her tone. How could she say that to him after everything they went through on Krop Tor, after he entrusted the survival of the universe to her? "_Of course I_ – Rose, how can you _say_ that to me? How can you even _think _that?"

"Because you don't _talk to me_!" Her own voice raised, upset from the way he fenced her out and the events of the previous night combining and choosing to manifest itself in anger. "You're too bloody _stubborn_ to let anyone in! All this time we've been together, and you've never let me in, not once! I can't understand why you can't just tell me what's the matter!"

"Because _I can't_!" He stood and began to pace in aggravation. The tiredness, the sharp thudding in his head, the cut of her words, all boiled over in his temper and erupted from him like a flash flood. "Why won't you listen to me when I tell you _I can't do it_? I'm not trying to keep you out, Rose, I'm trying to _protect you_! You're just like your wittering bloody mother! Stop nagging me, you _stupid_ ape, and leave me alone!"

_Silence._

He didn't mean it. His face smoothed as soon as he realised what he had said, his hearts skipping in his mouth.

The hurt in her eyes was only visible for a moment, because she took up their mugs and crossed quite sedately to the sink, tipping the now cold tea away.

"Rose…"

"It's fine." Her voice was clipped, barely controlled against the burning tears he saw briefly gathering in her eyes.

"No, Rose – oh, I'm sorry…"

"Just -" she kept her back to him as she pressed a hand over her mouth to still the sob. "Just leave it. That's what you want, anyway, so let's do that, shall we?"

Without another word, Rose left the room, leaving the Doctor alone, just as he said he wanted. The Doctor sank into one of the chairs and hid his face behind his hands. Nothing of what had been flung so callously from his mouth was either true or what he really thought. She helped him in ways that he could never describe. It was because of Rose that he was sat where he was now and not lying dead at the base of the console. Taking the past months out on her was neither fair nor justifiable. Shame prised its way in to nestle at the heart of the other emotions struggling to take hold. Needless to say, Shame won.

He sat back, staring unseeingly at the ceiling, thinking. _"You've never let me in, not once!" _Was he really that bad? He couldn't be _that_ bad, surely. _Rose is a human_, he reasoned with himself, trying to rationalise his behaviour. _A silly, emotional little human who thinks … who thinks …_ The Doctor sighed sadly. _Rose is a wonderful, beautiful woman who thinks with her heart instead of her head, unlike you. All she wants is for you to be safe, and you've thrown it back in her face._ He flinched at the thought, but allowed it all the same. It was, after all, true, and he had to acknowledge it. To treat the girl he felt so strongly for so bitterly was the ultimate cruelty.

Moments later, the Doctor stood before her door, the weight of his shame settling all the more when he heard her muffled crying. _What have I done to her?_

He knocked gently. "Rose? Can I come in?"

The crying stilled, but no acceptance came.

"Rose?"

There was still no response, but there wasn't exactly a spoken "no", so the Doctor edged the door open, just enough for him to round his head into her darkened room. He saw her move speedily across the bed, and realised far too late what was happening. The shoe hit him square in the face before he could fully withdraw into the safety of the corridor. He cried out in surprise, springing back from the door like an aggressive dog had just tried to savage him. From his new place sprawled against the wall of the corridor, the Doctor watched, stunned, as the door slammed him out.

"Okay," he said to himself when he had finally overcome the surprise and rubbed the bruise on his cheek, "I suppose I deserved that."

The Doctor approached the door again. "Rose, please, we need to talk."

Her silence was so complete it was as though there was no-one else in the TARDIS, never mind the room. The Doctor rubbed his forehead, scowling at the throbbing in his head as he slid his back down her door to sit with his legs crossed at its base. The cool wood soothed his head a little as he rested his temple against it. Something of the contact reminded him of the previous night … her cool hands calming him, pulling him out of the nightmare's hold with the gentlest touch … it had been the worst one yet. He was sure it would never leave his memory, in this body or his remaining three. He stayed there silently for several minutes, waiting for some kind of sign from beyond the door.

"It's funny," he told the door quietly. "I've got the whole of Time and Space at my fingertips. I can watch galaxies being born; I can see great stars die. I can go absolutely anywhere. Anywhere but home. This old TARDIS -" he ran a hand fondly down the wall "- used to be all I had … and then I met you in a basement. I was going to blow up the entire building with the Auton…" the Doctor leaned his head back against her door, a smile breaking at the memory. "But this silly little ape got in the way, and she's been getting in the way ever since…" He went quiet for a moment, listening. Still no sound from the other side of the door. Perhaps she was asleep, catching up on what he had deprived her of during the night. It was easier to talk to the door if he kept thinking she was asleep… "And I can't get enough of her." He pulled a hand through his hair, wondering vaguely that he still had so much, considering the habit, and wondering more prominently if he had the courage to confess everything to the door. "I can't imagine living without her." _My hearts would break…_

"And these dreams – these dreams, they're – well. I can't get away from them; I see them all the time, every day. I can't escape -" _I can't escape the image of you dying._ "- I look at you, and it – I …" The tightening in his throat made him look silently into the grilling, as if trying to find the answer to his torment. He tried to banish the thoughts from his mind, but they rained down on him unbidden, fogging him with the images of his nightmares. The Doctor ground angrily at his eyes with the heels of his hands, and before he could stop it, a sob rattled through his lips. He stilled, trying to compose himself.

"You chase my demons away, Rose," he eventually managed. "But I couldn't cope if they made me lose you."

The Doctor clambered to his feet, casting the door a last glance before heading for that hole he had been planning to hide under for so long.

Rose let her tears seep into the wood she leant against, wanting nothing more than to open the door and hold him. She knew now, and her heart ached for it.


	6. Chapter Five: Veils

Hi, guys! I know this is a long time in the making, but I have been doing other things - like writing essays, preparing to move house, etc. However, I'm back! Hopefully this chapter will answer some questions and keep your interest keen. It's fairly long, and the contents of it, plus the next chapter, make it a bit of a horror story.

Anyway, enough from me - enjoy!

Chapter Five: Veils

_It loved the taste. Oh, how _it relished_ it!_

_What felt like decades spent as a mere essence, drifting through the empty vacuum like so much space litter, a crude rendition of existence, a flutter beneath the single cell organisms aspiring to climb the evolutionary ladder._

_Of course, there were advantages to being merely a wisp of reality. It had found its way to a blue planet, and landed in chaos. It liked chaos. Above the seething dirt there did not seem to be air, but rather a boiling mess of fear and pain and smoke. And agony, desperate and deep. Sometimes there was gas, which made the former all the better. The things nightmares were made of._

_Oh, this place was bliss._

_Feeding on the scraps of space was no way to maintain itself; a crashed ship here, the last song of a dying planet there, no sustenance to it at all. Which, of course, was why this place was so wondrous._

_Ypres, it discovered this bountiful place was called. And it fed, gorged itself until its essence grew too fat to remain a mere wisp. The officer it found was in the last throws of life, his eyes fading in the mud and the blood of their war. And it had launched on him like so much of their artillery. He had been terrified, which made it all the easier, creating a direct channel into his head. The heart gave out, serving to fuel it further as it adapted its essence into a shape, a cell for cell imitation. The imitation was not perfect: its own cells mimicked those of the dead man to such a height that they too began to exhibit the signs of death, without actually dying. This, it found, was highly useful._

_The dying, it discovered, saw this body almost as a friend … which made it easier to feed when they eventually realised; something to do with the numerous holes in the torso, it thought, and the blue tinge alighting the rapidly cooling flesh. Their terror knew new heights then when the hands of a dead man pressed against their skulls and an invisible force ripped at their emotions like a frenzied wolf. And so it continued, growing in strength and employing fresher bodies to help it limp through existence. The ability to change itself was skill that was difficult to hone. Imitations of human dead were difficult to maintain. Soon, though, if it was conservative enough, it would be able to form its own body…_

_But something happened then that it neither planned for or thought was even possible. The bounty ended._

_Not through the end of the war, but because it was caught feeding by a higher power, a being that laid eyes on it feeding and knew exactly what it was. And it knew that this new creature warranted fear and respect, but also loathing. And this being, this greater power, had taken it away, ripped it from its larder with a rage fierce enough to put Ypres' guns to shame. The choking fog of the battlefield was replaced by pressing nothingness as it was cast back into the cavern of the universe, at the very edge of existence. It discovered the sensation of hate then, ice-hot and vicious._

_But it found itself hauled to a new planet. It was barren, no atmosphere, no life save for the humans scurrying around their rickety station. This world teetered on the edge of oblivion like an egg at the lip of a well. But what there _was_ on the impossible rock was a manifestation of an Idea, and it was the Idea that taught it patience._

--(0)--

Hours passed. His dwindling energy reserves were spent, empty cartridges rusting in the rain; the Doctor had found that that pleasant bolt hole had lost its peaceful appeal, the promised mindless tinkering cemented shut against him. Rather than disappearing under the grilling, the Doctor positioned himself in the captain's chair and watched the monsoon over the exterior monitor, chin resting on steepled fingers. How he had wanted to show her the rain…

The Doctor sighed, clicking his back with a role of the shoulders. Hours were gone between them, whole and allowed to stretch. Unlike the Doctor's stiffened back, Time could flex in any way it wished.

He needed her to break down the barrier he had managed to throw up so foolishly. Just a couple of ill-placed words, and that was it, the length of corridor between the consol room and Rose's bedroom door became a No Man's Land that both feared to tread…

The need to do something constructive pushed him up: sleep threatened to take him again, and, though his mind and body cried for its healing hand, he feared the shadows behind his own eyelids. Unwilling to commit himself to his room, and without the required mindset to disappear under the grilling, the Doctor's focus came to the most pressing task in the room, and he sucked on his teeth as he regarded it. Cleaning up his own blood was not his idea of thrills and chills, but the shear volume of it that confronted his eyes when he raised the grille made his eyebrows raise. Looking at it, it was a complete mystery to him that his body had not pushed for a regeneration.

Cleaning. What's more, cleaning with the screwdriver. He couldn't take water down there, there was too much circuitry, already damaged by the blood it had found itself coated in. A mundane task, nice and guaranteed to numb his brain enough to stop thought on subjects he did not want to breach with himself. Brilliant.

The Doctor sprawled himself on the floor and pushed his arm down, listening with little interest to the steady whirring of the sonic and watching the blood flake. He guided the fallen bits into a pile, his fingertips turning russet. The process was oddly satisfying, but required little thought, and the mind of a genius is not so easily stayed from thinking. He blinked at what he had accomplished so far: eighteen circuits and twelve coiled yards of cable looked good as new, though a further forty-six circuit boards remained dull and dark, along with four transistors, nine malganated trectonate fuses, and a bolcobarious reactor. The Doctor liked to call the last one BOB. BOB was particularly fiddlesome, and the task of cleaning it did not sit well with him. The screwdriver sang again as he got going on the fuses, and he could not stop his mind straying into thought, even if he had truly wanted to…

The lioness came into his head, gold and scarlet and edged with blackness. He had been so sure, so very _sure_ that he knew the creature that had attacked her. The way the kill had been made was typical of a beast he had encountered before in the Klaxus System. Only, he had seen that one – difficult to miss, actually. If this was the same animal, exactly when in its evolution did it become invisible? And the way the lioness' brainwaves had been airborne, practically _ripped_ from her skull, indicated some kind of neurological wave scavenger. But why here, at this particular time? A creature of that strain enjoyed places inhabited by civilisations that could emit higher brainwaves, civilisations that warred. That moment before death when pain takes over and overwhelms, when the mind tries to fleet from the plight of the body it is bound to. That's what these _things_ feed on, that moment.

And there was something else perplexing him. What had happened to his relationship with Rose? Since when had it become so tense? His words in the kitchen had spilled over her defences like acid and left her throwing shoes at him. Why? He regretted every syllable, and felt shamed that he had spoken to her in such a manner, but she really should not have been so sensitive. He'd called her a stupid ape. But he'd done that before, and she had not been nearly so offended, even though he had actually meant it back then.

The Doctor hauled himself to his feet, rubbing his hair absently. What was more, why had their pursuer given up so easily yesterday? A couple of bangs into the TARDIS' flanks, and that was it. Silence. Having seen the lioness, there was a blood lust to the beast that was apparently difficult to satiate, so why, after wounding him, had it given up? Defenceless severely injured humanoid being compared to the ruling predator of Africa. The Doctor knew which one he would rather put more effort into killing. He had gotten off lightly – though his shoulder protested against that statement.

Of course, it could be waiting for them outside, lulling them into a false sense of security.

The Doctor pulled the monitor round and requested an external life signs scan. The scan informed him of what he had hoped for. _Notable life forms, immediate exterior:_ _1_: a lone male hyena, snuffling curiously at the base of the blue box it had found in its territory. That was it for half a kilometre, where there were more hyenas, and then beyond that, Africa's wildlife in all its poacher-free glory. Hyenas were not a problem, so long as they did not decide to set up a den outside the Doctor's front door. He knew it could not be inside the TARDIS, but the Doctor ran the check anyway.

_Notable life forms within interior_: _3_.

The colour fled his face as he read the figure, so calmly offered to him by the screen. That couldn't be possible. The reading was wrong. He did another check. Again, that number blinked up at him from the monitor.

It was in the TARDIS, had probably been there for hours, and he had not seen her for so long-

The Doctor's feet pelted him along the corridor, throwing up grilles under the pound of his furious need. There was no cautious knock, no request for permission. The door flung back so hard it bounced back at him.

Rose did not spare him a glance. She was squashed against the headboard, arms thrown out behind her. Her breathing was rough, and her eyes wide and fixed on the small creature sat directly on her chest.

It looked like a cat at first glance, a black cat with a rough coat, similar to that of a deerhound. But it had no eyes. Two dark pits practically swallowed Rose in their emptiness as it stared fixedly at her.

"Doctor?" Her voice shivered. "What is it?"

"Stay absolutely still," he warned softly, edging into the room.

He knew now. He had seen it before, many years ago. He remembered casting it out into the stomach of open space after discovering it feeding in France. By the hatred he sensed from it, he knew it recalled him also.

"It's an Incubus: a type of daemon that feeds on the distressed neurological waves of nightmares that it creates in the head of an independently thinking being. They're normally happy with nightmares, but this one's developed a taste for death. This," the Doctor stated very softly, "is what attacked the lioness and me."

The Incubus turned its angular head at the Doctor, peeling back its lips and giving him a throaty hiss, a sound that pushed Rose's fear higher than she thought possible. "But it - it's not big enough."

"It's a shape shifter," the Doctor answered simply. "A dissolute, gorging parasite that leeches off anything it can get its claws into." His voice gained the sneer that dominated his face. "A wretch of the universe designed to take and take and take until there's nothing left."

_Have you ever existed like every hour is a grudging allowance, Doctor? Like every heartbeat is only allowed because it would be immoral to withhold it?_

He was surprised with the communication it initiated, but even more so by the fact that it spoke in his head. Apparently Rose heard it too: her brow knitted briefly, her breath hitching in her throat.

The Doctor recovered quickly. "You don't have to kill."

_Don't I? And how do you know that, Doctor? From what authority are you that you can judge my actions when your own are so skewed? You forget that I have seen your mind. I know you, Doctor, and I have waited such a long time to show you that I am not the weakling you dismissed into the cosmos. I have power now._ The Incubus punctuated this by furling its talons into Rose's chest, not deep enough to wound her, but enough to show that it could demonstrate if the need arose.

"Oh, I _know_ you're powerful, I absolutely agree with you that you're _powerful_, I mean, shape shifting, that's quite a talent you've acquired there," the Doctor's tone strengthened as he simultaneously talked and struggled in his head to find a way of getting the Incubus away from Rose. "You've made yourself evolve to survive, and that's _brilliant_, that's raw instinct, kind of like a super-virus.It's what you_ do _with that power that I'm bothered about. Y'see, I don't view slaughtering a lion as powerful, I see it as a cowardly show-off stunt.

"And as for authority," the Doctor continued, now pacing slowly, hands in pockets, "try last of the Time Lords. See how your foot fits in that one."

Rose registered it. That tone.The drop of his timbre gave the warning that his speech did not. It spoke salvation in her ear, and doom in those of his enemies. She had seen so many laugh in his face at his words, but the certainty always petered out. The thing on her chest, she could tell, was definitely regarding him differently – if 'regarding' was the right word.

"She isn't the one you're after. I didn't even know Rose when I found you in Ypres. I'm the one you want. Leave her alone, and I can find you a planet where you can exist without trouble."

_You will not give me food._

"What I'm giving you is a chance. Take it. You only get one." His eyes darkened, matching the black he stared into unwaveringly.

The Incubus did not move. _He did not teach me to be weak._

The Doctor's brow buckled. "Who's he, what do you mean, _he_?"

_The Dark Master. He who waited millennia for release and fell into the Black Eye at your hand._

"What _Dark Master_-" Then it clicked. The Doctor's mouth formed a wide 'O' and a hand pulled through his hair. "Oh, I see. You landed on Krop Tor."

_A ship spilling fear into the emptiness was impossible to resist. There was no resistance, and I fed on their dreams, though not to the death as I wanted, because he would not let me. I found Him, and he taught me vengeance and hate._

"I think you already had the hate thing down to a T," the Doctor remarked humourlessly. "And you sensed me and latched on, correct?"

The black pits grinned at him. _Always a pleasure to be reunited with an old enemy. There are terrors in your mind that are too delicious to leave. You are a feast, Doctor._

"If I'm such a feast," the Doctor said slowly, softly, "come and feed."

Rose's eyes widened in horror. "Doctor, don't you_ dare_!"

The grin deepened, and the head turned back to Rose. _Oh, I don't think so._ The Incubus leapt, cat-like feet angled straight at Rose's face. She screamed out as the thing disappeared into her head.

"NO!"

The Doctor grasped her by the shoulders and hauled her upright, pressing a hand to her face, fingers stroking the skin under her eyes in a desperate attempt to hold on to what he knew he was about to lose. Black bled through her irises, her face tugged with pain. "Help me," she breathed, clutching his hand.

"Rose, stay with me, stay here! Rose -"

Her eyes rolled back into her skull, her head lolling into his palm. Her body relaxed completely.

"_No_! No, no no no no, Rose come back, come on, please, don't leave me..." Even as he begged her, his mind already knew that there was no level of pleading capable of bringing her back to him. Trembling, the Doctor laid her limp body back down on the bed, positioning her on her side, one hand between the pillows under her cheek, just as she normally slept. He was only too aware that this was not a normal sleep…

Within seconds of being arranged under the cover, Rose's facial muscles began to twitch. The Doctor tensed at the first signs of dreaming, watching as her eyes moved sporadically beneath their lids. Her breath hitched, strangled moans escaping her lips.

Frighteningly, _this_ was too similar to one of his nightmares. Now that he knew the Incubus had been instigating his bad dreams and sculpting them into something that was more harmful to him, he understood what it would do. It _knew_ what his worst nightmare was. It had drunk in his despair like a fine Chianti. He could cope if the images stayed in his head. But coming out into reality, being acted out in front of him, that went far beyond what he could handle.

And the Incubus had known this. It had known as soon as it had discovered the existence of Rose, and the Doctor's deep and concealed feelings for her. Now, it took his affection and turned it into a shadow he had to fear, turned it into Rose herself as she writhed in front of him.

She was beyond him. There would be no grand sweep, no grinning rescue from some ridiculous advantage he managed to attain. The Incubus sought its revenge by forcing him to watch as it slowly killed Rose with her own nightmares.

Giving up was not an activity the Doctor liked to participate in, however. He laid himself down on the bed beside her, face to face. His shaking hand smoothed stray strands back from her eyes, freeing them from mascara. "My demons, Rose." He held back the frightened sob as his long fingers spidered over her temples, one leg hooked over hers in an attempt to maintain physical contact. He breathed in the scent of her for what he knew could well be the last time. _I'm coming_, he promised.

The Doctor closed his eyes, and passed into nightmare.


	7. Chapter Six: I Close My Eyes

Chapter Six: I Close my Eyes

Chapter Six: I Close my Eyes

The hot wind panted salted breath at his neck. Then it decided that huffing on him was not enough, and it gave his back a malicious shove. He dug the soles of his Converses into the serrated rock. Whatever he did, he _must not_ fall in.

_In what_? The Doctor opened his eyes and looked. He was stood on an outcrop of rock that pronged into a sheltered bay, unevenly spaced stepping stones leading back to the shore. Shore, interestingly, did not look particularly inviting under the moody rust sky. His foot took a back step, and his arms fired out to throw his balance back as his heel discovered the limiting boundary of his diesis-like rock.

And that's when he looked down.

The water was completely flat. "It'll make the 'bergs hard out to sea, Mr Murdock." He flinched when the lonely words burnt to a cinder in the wind's hot smirk, and the silence shoved any further remarks back down his throat. It was so utterly quiet. No birds. The wind, so keen to push him in the back and breathe sweat-hot down his neck, made absolutely no sound. The water did not even move against his rocky plinth to offer a soft _slap_. The unnatural still made his hair bristle.

And what was wrong with the water? It was dark, very dark, but the depth was constantly shallow, never varying from his point out in the bay to the shoreline. From what little he could see of the bottom, he could keep sixty percent of his body dry if he were to go in there – which he absolutely did not want to do. The rock bed was wreathed in kelp and various seaweeds, predominantly red. The redness of this place disturbed him. There was no clear stretch of water, not anywhere, and he knew that that ever-reaching kelp was keeping something from him...

And then there was that _slap_ he had missed earlier.

The sound rippled across his skin, further raising the hair on his arms and neck. The Doctor stopped breathing, and looked around him again. In the near distance, something moved through the water, slicing through the glassy mirror with surgical precision. He recognised the shape instantly. "So," the Doctor told himself, no longer caring about the pressing silence and rather liking the sound of his own voice. It offered him company that was not the thing presently gliding through the water. "Rosie-Rose has an irrational fear of sharks."

The shark was coming closer, but running parallel to him. All he saw of it was the fin, but that was enough: he deduced in a nanosecond that the dorsal fin in question belonged to a Great White, about twelve feet in length…

"Okay," the Doctor said slowly. "Rosie-Rose has an irrational fear of sharks that are not governed by dimensional laws…"

He watched as the impossibly large animal disappeared under the water of the shallows. Moments later, the water bloomed red in the shark's wake, the gentle 'V'-shaped imprint it momentarily created in the calmness bleeding. He knew it was blood. It had got something large that he had not seen, no fuss, no thrashing, no chase, no resistance.

He absolutely did not want to be stood where he was any more. The Doctor swung his attention to the stepping stones - that were not there any more. Panic gripped his stomach as he stared at the empty expanse of water winking red back at him. Even as he watched, the water parted for more and more fins, until there were dozens of them ghosting around him, meandering through the kelp without ever making it so much as twitch.

The Doctor twisted to look out of the bay – and nearly died of double cardiac arrest.

Rose was stood ten feet from him, thigh deep in water and frozen in sheer terror, watching the grey shapes slip towards her…

"Rose!"

She blinked in confusion at hearing his voice. Her eyes finally settled on him, and her forehead wrinkled in puzzlement at the sight of him. "_Doctor_? What are you doing here?"

"Never mind that right now, get out of the water!"

The triangles were getting closer. Rose's voice tightened. "I can't move."

"Right. I'm coming to get you."

"No, don't! They'll get you! It's a dream, I'll wake up, I always do!"

The Doctor ignored her, slipping into the water. It didn't feel like water: there was no wetness for a start, and it was impossibly warm and moving through it was like trying to drag a spoon through cold treacle. "This dream," the Doctor explained hurriedly, wading to her position and only too aware of the sharks taking an interest in his activities, "is not a real dream."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean the Incubus has set this - air-quotes" he conducted the motion with his fingers "'dream' up to kill you, and I've entered your head to try and get you back. _I_ am real, _you_ are real, and so are _they_." He gestured to the shapes now sinking out of sight and making that ripple that would soon be coloured by his lifeblood. "Don't think that you'll wake up in bed just before they get you, Rose, because you won't."

The sharks were drawing closer now, angling themselves at him.

The Doctor was still three feet from Rose. He extended his hand to her –

Something slipped by his leg.

"Doctor, they're comin'!"

"Rose, give me your hand!"

She reached for him, but those few inches between them seemed impossibly far.

"They're _comin'_!"

The Doctor made a decision. If he was right about the games the Incubus was playing with them, this would work. If not, at least they would die together. He lunged the gap, barely leaving the sluggish water, grabbing her outstretched fingers –

And everything changed.

His feet were on solid, dry ground, and the sudden coldness of the air stabbed his warm skin like an ice bath. He knew the smell of it only too well as it filled his nostrils with sickeningly certain knowledge before he opened his eyes. He only hoped he was wrong. His eyes opened.

No colour, only grey. Grey fog, grey road.

Grey ruins.

The cold launched a whole new and more vicious assault as visual imagery matched his sense of smell and memory and came up with an all too complete answer. The Doctor shivered, and realised that he was back in the shredded pale blue shirt. "Oh no..."

But there was Rose, standing right beside him. Healthy, radiant Rose, confused, but unhurt. _Not like before_.

She gyrated, trying to take in her surroundings. It felt, to her, like the fog was seeping into her eyes and draining her senses of every perception. All she could sense of their new environment was the murky veil. It smelled of age and damp and death, somewhat like that collapsed tunnel near the Powell estate. The council had been 'getting round' to sorting it out for years, and it had remained ruined and forgotten, save by the local kids and the tramps. She had gone there once, on a dare, and could smell the same putrid decay in this strange place. That tunnel had scared her as a child, but this place, she knew, was much, much worse.

_Where are we_? The sharks were a recurring dream she had been having since she was twelve, but _this_? This was not one of her dreams, she had never had anything like this before. It felt somehow worse – far worse – than the sharks, and nothing had happened yet. But if the Incubus was playing with _her_ nightmares and trying to destroy her through her _own_ dreams, what was this place?

And then she realised whose nightmare this really was.

When she turned to look at him, Rose was appalled to see the Doctor shaking, not through cold, but fear. Every frightened dart of his eyes over their surroundings was wide and searching, but Rose had the distinct feeling that he really did not want to see.

Rose entwined her fingers with his. The Doctor started at the contact, but returned the pressure – a little tighter than was comfortable for Rose – and kept his eyes turned reluctantly to the fog. She could feel his double pulse thundering through his palm.

"Doctor," Rose urged softly, "Doctor, where are we? Doctor?"

The Doctor did not reply, just standing and staring into the fog, like a deer that has caught something dangerous on the wind. Rose understood that he was afraid, but she also thought she understood the way this little game of the Incubus worked. She needed to know what to expect and what this fog held back from them. If she knew, then the Incubus would not get what it desired from this situation. The Doctor obviously expected something awful to come from the grey, and she did not fancy meeting whatever was capable of scarring the _Doctor_ without being forewarned.

"Doctor, what comes out of the fog?" Rose pushed firmness into her tone. "_Doctor_! Come on, talk to me! You _have_ to tell me what's comin'!"

Finally, he responded. He turned to her for the first time since they arrived in his personal hell. He settled his eyes on her, and the expression was … strange. Fear and dread soaked her in his gaze, and Rose was hit by the horrible sensation that he was somehow frightened of _her_. When he eventually spoke, his voice was strangled. "You, Rose."

A cold trail flitted over her neck and made her hair rise. Before she had the chance to question him further, Rose saw something move. The tumbling walls of the ruins lining the road like a procession of eerie sentinels were falling. She jerked her head round for a proper look, and instantly wished she hadn't. They weren't falling at all. Her free hand grabbed his arm. _Ghosts. Those buildings are _leaking_ ghosts_!

Shadows of hundreds upon hundreds of people were emerging from the stone, simply stepping as though they were walking a high street. Rose tightened her hold on him as his shaking worsened. The Doctor pulled her into a staggering run, but there was nowhere for them to go. The ruins repelled Rose with a sense of fear so strong it made her nauseous as they bled more spectres to the wide dirt track.

Moving only served to deepen the Doctor's fear as the ghosts kept coming from every direction. With every new addition to the crowd of dimmed figures, Rose saw his eyes shimmer with recognition. These were not just imagined faces, she realised, but people he _knew_. Rose steeled herself and looked at the faces properly herself. The greater majority of them, she had never seen in her life: men in robes, various women, aliens she had never heard of … and then she laid her eyes on others that she recognised. Captain Jack Harkness blinked her way, a shadow of his old grin dragging at his face. She couldn't stay looking at him. Jack was not the only one Rose knew. Scootie, her expression fixed as it had been when the black hole dragged her through space to its maw. Ood watched her serenely, wide amber eyes dulled out. There were more, but she could not stand to see them.

There was no escape for them from the shadows of his past. His mind wanted nothing more than to run, run as fast as he could and take Rose with him, right out of this Hell ... but his legs could not oblige his desire any more than the wasted shirt could keep him warm. Regardless of his own fear, the Doctor pulled Rose into his arms in a vain attempt to shield her. Rose managed to maintain a clear head as she held him in return, hoping that he was able to take some comfort from her. She remained steady in the face of his torment, her body perfectly solid. Their situation was frightening, yes, but she controlled her fear, forcing it down and facing it head on. This was not how she had envisioned dying, and she certainly had no intention of allowing a spiteful neurological wave scavenger to be the end of either of them.

Still, Rose found it difficult to keep her head when the expected vision of herself stepped forward through the throngs of the dead of the Doctor's life. The spectral Rose coming towards them was the only colourful element of her drained fellows. She looked very much alive from a distance, and she did not move in a gliding manner like the others, but stumbled, practically tripping over what the real Rose swiftly recognised as the Doctor's trench coat. She saw her own hair darkly plastered to her skull, her face pale and greying. She had a distinct feeling that this was the dream she had pulled the Doctor out of last night. No wonder he had screamed.

She felt him swallow dryly, his trembling increasing and a small strangled sound escaping the trap of his throat. His attention was not hers, but totally riveted on the wailing shade that cried and pleaded at him, blood dripping down her face. Rose twisted to face him, placing her hands on either side of his face and dragging his eyes down with sheer authoritative force. "Doctor, I am right here," she stated firmly. "Not over there. I'm here, in your arms."

He blinked at her, registering the solidness of her body and the very real scent of her, but his eyes acted independently of his mind and hauled themselves to the greying Rose. "I promised Jackie I'd keep you safe."

Rose felt despair run a nail down her resolve. "But I _am_ safe, I'm with you! Here – see?" Rose's fingers whispered over his cheek. "I could never be safer."

When his eyes returned to her, they donned a mahogany veneer. "And look where we are, Rose! Look where I've brought you!" His jaw clenched. "This is not where you should be, this is not your nightmare!"

Rose smiled softly at him. The false Rose called his name out to the fog, a piteous, agonised wail shoving the cold aside and aiming at his soul. The real Rose completely blanked her doppelganger, shifting her body round to block his view of her false self. Rose gave her head the tiniest of shakes. _No_. "Our demons, Doctor."

Something broke in him. He blinked, reeling as the words barged their way through and knocked the imprint of spectral-Rose to dust. He could see the young woman standing before him, so very much alive and with him. She was all he could see. No marred and bloodied reality stumbled towards them for a moment, and the Doctor relished the sensation of wholeness looking up at him. A slow smile blinked into existence.

Rose smiled back.

The cold lost its edge, just a bit. And then the Doctor noticed something else when he dared himself to look back at the wraiths. The spirits staggered like the pairs' smiles were throwing bricks at them, seemingly lumbering against the new wall their union slowly built up as an unseen shield. The false Rose stopped completely. She wailed morosely, but the sound seemed dimmed and forgotten, the fog becoming a thick blanket and smothering the words against her lips.

"It's us," the Doctor said, realisation lighting each shadowed face. He didn't want to offer the depth of his knowledge: the idea was too fresh and untested, and presenting it to the stale air would be like exposing a child to a deadly virus. The best thing to do was keep the child locked indoors…

"D'you know what I love about your mother, Rose?"

Rose blinked. Her eyes flitted to the dead faces surrounding them, and she came to the very firm conclusion that the Doctor had evidently dropped his marbles and lost most of them under the sofa. Seeing as indulging him was generally the best way to push him towards making sense, Rose offered an uncertain: "No..."

"She has a very black-and-white view of the world, does your mother – oh, and she makes a good cuppa. I mean, she's relatively _alright_ at making tea. Well, more mediocre, actually. _Anyway_…" His tone was brightening up as he talked and built up speed like a freight train: "the thing about your mother that I really _love_ – apart from the fact that she gave birth to you, Rose, and that's always a plus for _her_ in my book – is that if she were standing where we are, right now, looking at this lot, d'you know what she'd do? She'd turn around and say -"

The Doctor turned on the bloodied Rose, staring deadpan into her face, all joviality gone.

"'You are a fragment of my imagination. You don't exist, and you don't frighten me anymore.'"

Everything turned completely still.

Then she felt it.

It was not in the air, as such, or in the ground. The staggered mortally wounded walls did not even offer so much as a shudder in the damp. It ran far, far deeper than that. The _push_ penetrated her like a rush of heat and blushed through her…

And then the change happened.

Gold strands snapped at her eyes as the wind rushed hot at their backs, so strong Rose grabbed out for the Doctor's arm. He pulled her in, enveloping her tightly. Passed his chest and her whipping hair, Rose watched the false echo of herself go wide-eyed with surprise, then vanish in a backward shower of black dust. The same happened to all of the others, all of them disintegrating and bleeding back into the fog and diseasing it with their darkness.

Only, everything went dark for Rose as well, and her arms were as empty as the new cloak of night.

9


	8. Chapter Seven: Shadows Play

**Hello! Firstly, I am so, so sorry that this has taken literally months to post. I've been stuck with uni work (as one part of the excuse), and I've been stuck on how best to resolve the situation I put the Doctor and Rose in. Kind of serves me right ... however, I did get hit by a Plot Bunny when I was on the train the other day, and it kind of sorted itself out from there. This is the second to last chapter, so the end is nigh! Thank you for sticking with this story (if you're returning to it), or thank you for reading it anew. I hope you enjoy it!**

Chapter Seven: Shadows Play

A breath. Would another follow? He was conscious of the pull of his diaphragm hauling air through his nose, cool and accompanied by a familiar and oddly comforting scent. Different shades of dark flirted for his eyelids and felt all too bright, and he winced. Blinking made nigh on no difference to the dark, but he gave it a go anyway. His head felt as though it had absorbed the fog, a splitting headache stabbing in the depths. Passing uninvited into someone else's head was not a normal practice for him, but he still did not expect it to produce this kind of effect on him. Clearly trying to battle a daemon lurking in the mind of another was not without its consequences. _How long was I in there?_ Another thought intertwined with the other, raising its ugly questions like stencilled eyebrows on a harlot: _If this is a migraine, and I'm conscious of it, am I awake and back in my own head? Or is this somewhere else I really don't want to be … and where's Rose?_

---(0)---

Everything was dark, and he was gone. There was Rose, and there was the Incubus, somewhere, waiting to launch the final attack. For a faceless volume of time, that was all she knew. The state of burning loneliness was nearly more than she could stand, and the unbridled terror that clawed at the space he had occupied threatened to drag her under, and she knew with awful certainty that she would not surface from the darkness. Alone in the dark, and with a creature hell-bent on her death.

And the Doctor was not there to save her. Not this time.

Rose knew he would not be coming back. With the Incubus being inside her head, she could gather smattered snips of a sense of what the creature was doing, rather than actual fully formed linear thoughts. It was how she imagined an animal processed life in its head: everything in the present, nothing in the past. Right now, the daemon holding her captive within her own head had one focus: _keep the Doctor out_. She was the intended victim, the calf without its parent, the completely vulnerable prey animal faced with a predator it could never escape, and that terrified her.

---(0)---

He needed to see her. "Lights," he rasped. Pale light bathed the room, and everything was deceptively, sickeningly normal: shoes on the floor, a book on the nightstand, even Derek, Rose's teddy, sat at the end of the bed and watching serenely as his owner fought silently against a parasite of the universe lodged in her head.

The Doctor checked her pulse, feeling her fright surge under his fingertips. Her eyelids fluttered, her lips parting in a silenced request for help.

He had to get back to her.

The Doctor positioned his fingertips lightly across Rose's temples, and closed his eyes.

Something whispered at the back of his mind that this might not be such a good idea. He had inexplicably left, pushed out into the real world like an unwanted guest.

Which was a serious problem.

While the Doctor was mildly telepathic at best, their consciousnesses had intertwined with each other, deep and welcomed by Rose, and their minds, effectively, had become one. That link should _never_ have been severed. He had, effectively, been rammed back into his own head. Which explained the headache. _You don't have complete control, not in there_, the thought continued. _This is dangerous._ Even as the Doctor considered the argument, he chose to ignore himself, and let his consciousness reach for Rose.

It was like getting in the way of a hammer-throw champion with a sledge hammer. Gold prize, extended reign for another year, direct hit.

The Doctor screamed, throwing himself away from Rose and indeed off the bed completely, holding his head like it was a shattered watermelon. He lay rigid on the carpet, gasping. Everything was consumed by the pain, _everything_, and it was all he could do to keep himself from writhing across the floor with it. He could have been screaming, but if he was, he wasn't aware. Everything went a brilliant, scorching white and pain screeched in his ears. It felt as though he was dying, he had to be dying, nothing in life could be so painful.

Slowly, the pain abated, and the Doctor simply lay there for a while, recalling how to breathe, and also trying to persuade his hearts that they did not have to beat out his double pulse on base drums passed his ears. Eventually, he felt enabled to sit up. The splitting headache from before was back, but the pain trying to escape his scull was far preferable to what he had just suffered. He sat and breathed for a moment. All he could see in his head were empty sockets of the Incubus and its screaming, fanged maw.

That had been a warning shot. There would be no surviving another hit. Like the lioness, it would rip him apart.

---(0)---

Rose felt the whisper of the Doctor's mind brushing against her own. But her hope of his coming to her aid crushed to nothing when she felt the _rush_: like a blast of malevolent wind hurtling towards the destruction of something beyond her sight. She was nearly bowled over by it. But when she heard the scream, so distant and oddly so close, her throat closed up in panic. "What have you done to him?" Her voice sounded lonely, the crying of a dog left out in the cold. She couldn't feel him anymore, not at all. "What have you _done_?"

It laughed at her.

"I am _not_ afraid of you! D'you hear?" The laughter continued, thrumming through the dark, all around and nothing she could do to reveal its dangerous source. "_I'm not afraid of you_!"

_Oh, but you are, Rose, you really are afraid of me. I would be._

---(0)---

Their bond had never been a question of service. It was rescue, at the very heart of it; they had needed each other more acutely than either would be prepared to consider. But there it was, unsaid. That wasn't necessary. Together, they had saved entire galaxies, rescued entire species from the brink of extinction. And together, they had destroyed civilisations. Their understanding bridged centuries, and their shared knowledge of Time and each other spanning near a millennium fell beyond the scope of human comprehension.

But the TARDIS shared with another, aside from her Time Lord. Rose knew the time machine in a way the Doctor never could. That's what happens when the raw essence of a heart such as hers is revealed to another, after all. The human girl was not permitted to hold the knowledge the TARDIS had poured into her, though. It was like molten lava to her mind, the mind that belonged to a creature of such fleeting existence. But she was more than a blip on the face of Time, like so many humans.

This one was different.

He was such an odd one. His capacity to love was massive for his species, and he always managed to get himself hurt. All who walked through her doors were taken into his hearts and kept safe there, beyond their own life spans. Little things, to them both, but so huge. He made them so, opening himself up to the unbelievable pain their passing brought.

He was feeling something akin to that pain now.

Humans were his favourite. They always had been. He would pick them up, travel with them for as long as their lives allowed him to, and then they would leave, through varying means. Perhaps it was because they shared his biology, in part. Perhaps it was the fact that they had the ability to match his affection.

When the Doctor absorbed the raw power of the Vortex from Rose and forced it back through himself to the TARDIS, he sealed their intimate connection. The ferocity of the soul of a TARDIS is barely containable for a Time Lord. But his efforts to shield Rose from the power of the TARDIS was not as successful as he had hoped. A small, barely detectable link. The same link that she had used to wake the human when she herself could not wake her Time Lord in his distress. Now, he was frightened, and she could hear the human girl, the droplet in Time, screaming in the darkness.

--(0)--

The black peeled away. Its impossible motion frightened her as glaring yellow blazed through, until it enveloped her. Heat thrummed down on her, scorching her skin through its relentless glare. Rose tried to gasp, but choked on the hot air. Her eyes scouted her new surroundings…

She was back outside again. The African wilderness stared back, the sun bouncing into her eyes from the parched grasses. No life fled from her presence, or took an interest in her. No wind, no air. Just heat. The air – what little of it that there seemed to be – hung around her, heavy and carrying an awful, sickly-sweet odour. Her stomach cramped, and it took all her resolve to keep from retching. But, when she saw the source of the stench, that barely maintained resolve shattered, and she vomited, the blank eyes of the rotting lioness watching.

No hand soothed her back, no words of comfort whispered in her ear. Her loneliness dragged a sob through her. His absence hurt…

Something moved through the grass.

Rose straightened. Her eyes fired through the tinder-dry yellow. How she _wanted_ it to be another lion. A lion, the dominant predator of Africa, would be more welcome to her eyes than the small, slinking form of the Incubus. She would never look at cats in the same way again…

But something else happened then, something that fired terror through her blood like a shot of injected poison.

Shadow bathed her in black light, blotting the sun like an unwanted guest. Darkened orange ate the grass lands surrounding her, a virus engulfing everything that dared exist in its path. The air clogged with drifting ash and blazing, consuming heat. The flames roared, possessed by the power of destruction. Panic burned her heart as much as the heat attacked her skin. Nowhere to run. How could she combat a _bush fire_?

And then there was something else to add to the terror of her situation, something that she had hoped would not come across her. She had known, right from the moment when she saw the lioness, that it was an inevitability. But that did not prevent her heart stopping when she saw the little grass not yet consumed by fire flatten under an unseen body.

"Oh my God…"

Rose did not allow it to move before she started running. Her eyes shot over the area, finding a gorge through the towering flare of fire. She darted through it, fearing her only avenue would seal itself before she got through it. Scrub torched around her, forcing her to jump it more than once. A fleeting part of her brain noted how impressive her leaps were in some cases. Running for your life as a daily occurrence certainly held its advantages.

The torrents of flame were a maze to her, a blistering, relentless death trap. The next turn down a wall of fire could well be her last, she was more than aware of it, yet she had to trust herself, offering herself to instinct like a blind lamb. And all the while, she could hear it, barrelling closer and closer, panting in the heat of its own creation. Perhaps the flames were just as dangerous for it as they were for her._ What have you done?_

Then something happened that she completely, utterly, did not expect. Neither, she realised, did the beast behind her: she heard a strangled yelp of dismay and shock emanate from its invisible body above the crackle of the dying grass –

A familiar wheeze rumbled over the fury of the fire and the Incubus' shriek. The shuddering image of the TARDIS materialised through the flames as she angled her staggered sprint towards the sound of salvation. The little air she could glean from around her snagged in her chest, desperation fuelling her lithe dance around the burning scrub and hunched trees. The Incubus screamed behind her, enraged by the challenge to its power by the invading force. It doubled its effort, abandoning the chase of sport for the chase of blood.

Rose screeched when it snagged her ankle, nearly throwing her centre of balance straight into the soil. Her other foot righted her, kicking out and managing to surge her forward … right into the TARDIS door. The wood bristled under her touch with heat and salvation. But before she could fumble the door open, the Incubus slammed into her back. The doors bust, sending them both flailing into the depths of the consol room.

--(0)--

Everything went black. The Doctor pulled his wide eyes from the face under his slender fingers, searching the sudden pitch for answers. His TARDIS never suffered power failure, not like a human house, and it frightened him, on top of everything, that something so serious as a loss of power should be happening, not right now, not when he could be about to lose her… His mind reached for his ship. She was focused on something, something beyond where he was allowed to go. She was functional, just not in the respect that she should be. Whatever it was that she was engaging in, he was not permitted to enter, which was made perfectly clear to him when their link was dampened.

"Oh no," he breathed, "not you too."

The lights flared back to life, too bright, then dipped again, only to peter out altogether.

Under the Doctor's fingers, Rose gasped.

--(0)--

Rose found her feet, throwing herself onto them when she finally managed to stop her body. She staggered back into the consol, feeling its familiar coolness under her fingers and gripping it, hard.

"Doctor?" She did not dare turn away from the slowly recovering beast before her. "_DOCTOR!_"

He wasn't coming. He had to be here, he had to have come to save her, he –

The beast arose, finding its feet and giving its head a vigorous shake. The fanged maw of the thing stretched and clicked, the small eyes darting over the interior, seeking its prey. The great grey scaled back flexed, talons digging into the grilling. Rose simply stopped breathing as the black, soulless eyes found her. It took a step forward, screeching at her. The shoulders bunched, bracing to spring –

The Incubus never made it a foot closer to her.

It was like someone kicked her from inside, pain and blackness, then –

Light. There was light, and softness, and touch. The touch she had wanted, _needed_ more than anything in the world. Her eyes focused on the face hovering over her own. The anxiousness in his features was upsetting, deep lines engraved around those frightened, dark eyes.

"Rose?" he ventured tentatively, afraid of the response, afraid that he stared into the eyes of a shell. "Please, talk to me. Please…"

Rose's face cracked into a radiant, lovely smile. "Hello."

He laughed, that relieved, hoarse laugh of his as he pulled her up into his arms, kissing her face and clutching her to his chest. His fingers curled into her hair as though entwining himself in her would keep her there with him, forever. "I though I'd lost you," the Doctor breathed. "I thought you were gone, I thought you were gone…"

"Seems to be going around a bit, that," Rose smiled into the stuff of his shirt.

He suddenly pulled back from her, holding her in front of him, clearly not wanting to relinquish his hold on his Rose just yet. Just looking at her burned, her incredible recovery a searing impossibility. She talked without his request, briefly outlining everything that happened, from the darkness through to the unexplained appearance of the TARDIS, rupturing the Incubus' deathly grip on her mind. The fact that she was there to tell him blinded his intellect. She was so complete, so whole and alive, so _so_ alive. No trace of the untold experience within her own consciousness tempered her eyes, no haunted post-nightmare tension tightened the muscle of her arms beneath his grip. Questions vied for being granted voice, shoving through his head in a torrent of importance. None of them, however, succeeded.

The unearthly shriek that rang through the corridors grabbed their attention and _pulled_. The pair stopped breathing at the sound, and the Doctor felt that coiling of her muscles that he had missed earlier. Another scream, and he was on his feet, pulling her up behind him without so much as a glance behind. He knew what it was, there was only one thing that it could possibly be, and he would have called himself a fool if he denied that the knowledge did not unnerve him. Still.

The Control Room. There it was, bawling and yowling like an animal caged – well, he had to concede, that was exactly what it was, in a manner. The Incubus was back in its demonic feline form, hissing and lashing out at the force of blue light surrounding it. It squealed at every contact with the forcefield, spinning and baring its fangs at every unyielding angle. And then its black pits settled on the Doctor, leaning his weight against the consol, and it cringed, baring its discoloured fangs in fearful hate. Its legs sank down and pushed it onto its belly under his unblinking stare. The wrath of a Time Lord, the most immeasurable force in the known universe. All focused, in that moment, on one parasitic creature.

"That's where it was when I woke up," Rose said, tentatively reaching his side and slipping her fingers around his. She was afraid now, being able to see the Incubus in the flesh as it writhed under the Doctor's glare. "It was all huge and … toothy. It jumped, and I felt this – shove. No, a kick. Like someone was kickin' me from my own head."

"You were shoved from your own head." His eyes never diverted their gaze as he offered her his explanation. "When you were … trapped … the TARDIS blocked me from her and concentrated her power. And it seems, Rose Tyler," the Doctor turned to her then and offered her a humourless smile, "that she was connecting herself to you.

"When a Time Lord and a TARDIS are teamed, they form a bond, a deep connection," he explained, his speech picking up pace. "That connection is only shared between TARDIS and pilot. However, Rose, I think that when you opened the heart of the TARDIS a year ago, a piece of your consciousness bled into her. I thought I'd pulled down the bridge, but clearly not as completely as I'd thought. She knew you were in danger, and she looked after you."

"Last night," Rose began slowly, "y'know, when I came in your room and you were -" the end of the sentence stalled, its truth lying beyond completion with the pain of the memories it evidently surfaced within him. "I was woken up by something, like a distant _nudge_, right in my head. I thought it was my mind playing tricks, and I rolled over. But then it happened again, and it was like I could _feel _the worry of her, a bit like a child tugging for attention, and then I listened, and…"

His attention levered back on the Incubus. "You've been feeding on me for months, that's one thing." His tone was dangerously level. "But when I gave you the option of an existence of peace, you chose violence and cruelty. Your actions have pulled you down into your own destruction." Without a further word, the Doctor turned to the consol, deftly setting coordinates into his beloved ship. The TARDIS juddered in protest, but he ignored her, slamming down three levers and raising the handbrake, releasing the time machine into the Vortex, the Incubus hissing and screeching from within its prison. "You should have taken the offer."

Rose watched, unsure of what to say. The Doctor was mad. His jaw was set firmly, his anger at what the Incubus had done giving his hand a slight shake with his barely suppressed rage. But his eyes, his eyes _burned_. There he was, the Oncoming Storm, the untempered fire so feared by so many other species, a force of fury and love and ire pushed to his absolute, merciless edge. And she knew that it was not because of what the creature had done to him, but what it had done to _her_.

_Release me._

He ignored the demand in his head. Rose, it seemed, was not privy to its voice: the TARIS had completely evicted the Incubus from her consciousness. The yowling reached a splitting crescendo in his mind.

_Release ME!_

_No._ The Doctor passed around the plinth, holding down a resisting lever. _You tried to hurt her. You've brought this on yourself._

_Cruel, heartless –_

The Doctor's head snapped up from the controls, and the Incubus found itself under the focus of that all-consuming ire. The eyes of the Doctor seared its skin. "You don't understand, do you?" he snarled. "I was trying to protect you from this! This is what I am! I give a chance, just one chance. I even told you that was it. This is your doing."


	9. Chapter Eight: Fire

Chapter Eight – Fire

"Doctor."

He blanked her. Whether the action was intended or a consequence of his distraction she was not sure, but it worried her. Rose envisioned him doing something rash to his captive in this fit of absolute rage that had taken him. This man in front of her, slamming into the controls with all the patience of an angered bull, was not someone she knew. Right now, in the face of this consuming fury he was so driven by, Rose seriously doubted that he would take his own morals into consideration when dealing with the Incubus. _Dust and air_.

"Doctor, where are we goin'?" Again, no response. He wouldn't leave the controls alone. The TARDIS juddered under the force of his delivered command, as though she did not want him to carry through the act Rose suspected he had in mind.

"_Doctor_!" Everything blazed red for Rose, just for a slip, but it was enough to power her to grab his arm and spin him round to face her. He stumbled away from the consol, clamping her eyes with his fierce stare. She refused to pale under their focus, refused to back down. Then after a moment, he blinked. It was as though he had not been looking at her at all. The Doctor's eyes softened, and his face lost its hardness. "Rose…"

"Don't you ignore me!" she snapped, upset and fright lighting her eyes. "Tell me, _where are we going_? What are you going to do to it?"

He just looked at her, as though the question was beyond him. Rose's hands were still wrapped around his upper arms, her grip mildly painful to him. But then his eyes found something in her, something he never thought he would witness, and his brows furrowed lightly in hurt. "You think … you think I'm going to kill it," he murmured. "You think I'm capable of that."

Rose faltered. Those words shook her, right through to her core. He had read her face like her doubts in him were clawed across her fair skin. Her gut twisted with the realisation of what she had done to him. Her grip lessened, her mouth silently trying to find the words to make the situation better for him, for her. There was nothing she could say.

The Doctor's eyes stayed with her only for a moment longer, then he was gone, back at the controls without a word her way. Rose felt the keen burn of the distance between them, mere feet feeling like the entire of space. One shove of doubt, just one, and she had turned her back on him. She should have known him better than that, she thought she _did_ know him better than that…

_You will not destroy me_. There was near glee in the words as they penetrated his skull. _Your compassion ruins your chance for vengeance._

_No, I won't kill you_. The Doctor's tone was level, dangerously level. _But don't think for one moment that I am showing you mercy in letting you live._

The central column grew still, the TARDIS offering a final shudder before settling.

"Rose."

She turned to him, hoping he would in turn look at her. But the Doctor's eyes were on the Incubus. Despite its apparent smugness in his mind moments before, it writhed and spat in fear. The black holes could not hold focus with the Doctor, and it again sought a way out, flinging itself at the forcefield and not relenting at the shocks it received from the action. "Don't come near the doors."

"Why?" Fear clamped her voice down to a near whisper. "What's outside the doors?"

He didn't answer her. The Doctor strode down the ramp, passed the squealing wretch housed in blue, and tugged the doors open.

Black light rushed the interior like a virus, staining everything in its dampening shadow. The aqua glow of the column dulled and strained to remain under its press. The entire room found itself invaded by an aggressive wind, every surface rasped under its malicious ice palms. It found her, invading every stretch of her skin and pulling relentlessly at her, trying to drag her towards the open doors. But the sound it made … it was screaming. Rose fell into a frightened crouch under the overhang at the back of the consol. The screaming peeled back her skin and fabricated itself into every part of her being. Every heartbeat cried past her ears, every breath screamed an unknown, boundless pain to her. Rose tried to shield herself from the screams, but they had become a part of her now, an element of experience that nestled itself deeper in her core than she would ever be able to banish.

The Doctor shied from the blackness that soaked through him, forcing himself to look into the dark heart that thundered in this desolate and bitter part of the cosmos. He had thought he would never see it again, had wished with all his soul that he would never see it again. But there it was, sprawled under the TARDIS like a black ulcer in Time and Space.

And he had come to it willingly.

The gaping maw of the Nightmare Child yawned at him, an impossible stretch of dark and fear. Its breath whipped his face with contorted images of fear and pain and malice. He pulled himself from the consuming snare, dragging his eyes to the Incubus. "You like nightmares. I'll give you nightmares."

The forcefield lifted. The daemon looked about itself, apparently stunned by the sudden freedom. Its lips peeled back to flash its yellowing fangs. It prepared itself for a triumphant leap into the Doctor's consciousness once again, the one final stab to deliver his mortality … but then the TARDIS dispelled it from her protective field. The feline form became wreathed in blistering darkness, thicker than anything the Doctor had seen since the Time War. It screamed its protest, trying to find a purchase on the grilling … but the pull of the Nightmare Child was too strong for something so small as a scavenger of dreams to resist.

The Doctor fought with the doors to close them from the invading force, slamming out the questing arms of blackness. When the doors clicked together, the room eased back to normality. He could hear his link with the TARDIS, and the steady, audible hum ran comfortingly through his senses again. The Doctor all but collapsed into the stained wood, panting. His eyes closed as he leaned deeper into the comforting hold of his ship. Nothing could have happened to them, not with the shields of the TARDIS protecting them … but the Nightmare Child had been able to search and feel, the questing darkness likened in his mind to a pack of starved wild dogs. And he had given the jaws of the darkness a feed. Did he feel remorse? No. The Incubus would not die in the clasp of the dark. But nor would it ever escape from it, and all those images it had been feasting on within the Doctor's head, all of those memories that it had laid bare, were now as much a part of the Incubus as they were a part of him. The Nightmare Child would force it to live his nightmares out until the despair drove it insane. _No second chances._ The universe needed to learn that the threat behind that warning would be carried out. The Incubus, at least, knew that now...

The light came back, serene and peaceful as ever. Above all else, though, the screaming stopped. The peace bathed her gently, like a parent soothing an infant. Her breathing no longer clawed at her senses, her heart no longer burned to beat. Rose became aware that she had hidden her head under her arms in an attempt to shield herself under the bank of the consol plinth. She nearly jumped out of her skin when a hand rested gently on her shoulder. Rose tore her head from her arms to find him crouching in front of her, a sad smile draped over his pale countenance. "C'mon." Rose took his offered hand and allowed him to pull her up onto her feet. "Are you alright?"

She took a moment to consider the question, and looked him squarely in the face. Her head shook. "No."

The Doctor moved her to the jump seat, placing himself next to her. He hadn't taken his hand from her shoulder, not yet. "What was that? What did you do with the Incubus?"

"That, Rose Tyler," the Doctor said quietly, lifting his eyes to the central column, "was the Nightmare Child. It's a wound in Time and Space created by the struggle of the universe. It's a negative force, an eternal trap. Nothing comes out of it. Not ever. I sent the Incubus into its mouth because it lives on nightmares. I've given it its own personal nightmare to live through for all eternity. It passed up its chance for peace." He looked back at her. "I'm sorry it touched you, but there was nothing I could do to shield you. The TARDIS kept the power of the Nightmare Child out, but she couldn't protect us completely and dispel the Incubus from her protection at the same time."

"And you let it fall in there?"

He sighed heavily. "No second chances, Rose. Not for something so bent on killing for its own entertainment."

Silence seeped between them. He looked inattentively around the room, maintaining the touch, but not looking at her. His reluctance to look at her burned, and she knew it was entirely her doing…

"Doctor… Doctor, I…" He turned to her then, his eyes questioning. There was nothing she did not recognise in him now, no part of him scared her. The fire was out, blasted into nothing and leaving him looking, in her view, as drained as ever. Rose swallowed. "I'm sorry." He opened his mouth, but before he could counter her words, or sweep her apology under the carpet to remain as another thing unsaid between them, Rose cut him off. "I was scared, and you weren't talking to me, and I just thought that-" her throat began to close her off "-I didn't recognise you, back then. You were so … so _angry_, and I…"Her H She tried to turn her head away as the tear tumbled. He noticed, anyway.

"Oh Rose," he sighed, brushing the trail left on her skin with his thumb. "You should never be in a position where you feel frightened of me, and I'm sorry, so sorry. I'd never meant to upset you, and I don't blame you for feeling the way you did."

"But I hurt you…"

"Don't worry about that," he said gently. "I'm -"

"-Fine?" she cut in. "Don't say that." The Doctor's eyes raised to a point over her head, his brows smoothing in a not-this-again manner. "Rose…"

"No, Doctor, please." Her eyes roved his face, every shadow, every line, every prominent freckle. "You're not alright, you're not fine. Please, can … I just want to go home."

A spark of fear and surprise lit in his dark eyes as they snapped back to hers. "You want to go home?"

Rose smiled, despite herself. "_We_, Doctor. I meant can _we_ go home – y'know, as in the two of us?"

He practically deflated through sheer relief. He didn't know how he would have coped if she had meant it in a singular context. "Yes, yes of course we can. How long for?"

She noted that he did not make a jibe against her mother at that point, passing by the presented opportunity that would normally have been too alluring to miss. They both needed to rest, that was no secret, and seeing her mother for a couple of days was exactly what the doctor ordered, as it were. "A day or two, y'know, just to recoup. Besides, I haven't seen Mum for ages, and I'm sure you're missing her." She couldn't help that last playful comment, thrown in to try and ease him further back into himself. True to form, the Doctor gave a snort, rolling his eyes and suddenly throwing himself to his feet, flitting round the consol and throwing levers with a touch of his usual vitality leaking back in. "As you wish, Rose Tyler," he said, releasing the handbrake and sending the TARDIS into flight. "If you want to see the Gorgon, that's what we'll do – just watch out for the hair, it bites on bad days. And it may offer you a beverage it likes to call tea, a loose term for poison. The Gorgon may offer you tea, that is, not the hair," he added, throwing himself down a tangent like a rock down a well. "That would be weird … although I was served beer by a waitress' hair, once. Her two heads got on perfectly well, but her hair fought all the time; used to get in tangles and tear off everywhere. Needless to say, I didn't drink the beer."

Rose couldn't help laughing at his babbling, even as she got up from the jump seat to give him an admonishing bat over the arm for the since passed quip at her mother. The Doctor paused to look at her fondly, that old grin that she felt she hadn't seen in days back in its usual place. Rose smiled up at him, a trace of sadness and regret lining the corners of her mouth. The Doctor's grin softened, and he opened his arms invitingly to her.

He had been so, so close to losing her. It had been frightening for him to consider a life without Rose by his side, lost to a creature of impossible spite. But even that paled next to what he had thought she implied moments before. Holding her, right now, was like clinging to a long harboured hope, a hope that only Rose had been able to nurture within him. It had lain so very close to the surface these past months, vulnerable and naked to the whims of the creature that had so ravaged his emotions. He felt stripped bare. Everything was so raw for him, and that element of his personality that he tried so hard to quash had raised its ugly head within his chest. It had screamed and burned with all the ferocity of what he had once been … and then there was Rose._ His_ Rose, the only one able to dampen the fire and ease the scorch left in the aftermath. How he needed her … more completely than he could ever reveal.

And how he had pushed her back.

He was frightened of popping this bubble he now found himself drifting in, this happiness and relief with her wrapped in his arms, alive and smiling. He could feel her upset at hurting him fluttering through her mind still, am uncertain leaf caught in the wind. She wondered if he still hurt at her lack of belief in him. He tried to tell her he was fine, that this simplest of contacts between them was all the help he needed. It had already been forgiven. Not forgotten – he didn't feel he could ever forget it – but forgiven. He knew what he was like, and he knew what she had seen … he had doubted himself, and he felt a keen hatred of that side of himself burn at having caused the doubts in the first place. Still. Everything was alright now, her sheer presence soothing the keening pain to nothing.

And then there were those words he so wanted to say to her. Holding her now completed him, if only for a time. The connection they had shared, despite being under the Incubus' grasp, had been a final piece to him. Their souls had entwined for a short time, and, without regard to the magnitude of the danger in their situation, he had relished it. He had known her so absolutely, and she him, that the break of the connection had felt like a tear, a fissure pulling him apart. And those little words, with all their power to destroy their current little world with a barrage of syllables and meanings that, once said, would be irreversible. The damage could be cataclysmic … or it could be the final bridge, the journey through to a wholeness he never believed he would feel again. Before he could slip that dagger through the perfect skin of fantasy, Rose sealed the words inside his lips with one quiet observation...

"See? Cuddles make everything better."

The Doctor groaned theatrically. "Cuddles?" he complained, happy she provided him an escape from anything deeper than he was willing to explore. "Why cuddles? It sounds so … well, cuddly. Like fluffy rainbows and revolting kittens. Why can't you call it something, I don't know, a bit more _manly_? Like 'embrace'. I like 'embrace'. Or, if you really have to, 'hug'. Not as good as 'embrace', but 'hug' would do the manly-manly trick."

"Oh yes," she mumbled, privately relishing the light heartedness he had initiated between them. All the tension, the arguments, the fear, pressed between their closeness into nothing more than a shade, but by no means a current condition. "Because 'embraces make everything better.' You're such a bloke -" the Doctor opened his mouth to pass comment, but she cut the words away from him "- and no, before you ask, that's not a compliment."

He chuckled, nestling his cheek into her hair. His eyes closed, memorising her more completely than she was allowed to know. "Ah, Rose Tyler," he smiled, "ever the one to keep me in my place."

--(0)--

"… And you know Judy down the pharmacy? Well, she's only gone and got herself pregnant _again_. Wasn't her fella neither, Margaret said it's that smarmy git what runs the chippy down Cotting Close…"

The Doctor had his eye out the window, observing the urban scape that was so familiar to him now, cradling a mug of half-drunk tea on his knee, cheek propped as though caught in a state of silent contemplation and thoroughly enjoying being very much in the background. His attention slipped between his own thoughts and Jackie's gossip, unable to focus on either for long. His body ached from its recent altercation with the Incubus, that dull throb still working at his shoulder. He shuffled back slightly, feeling the deep give of the armchair surround him. And that cushion was in just the right place in his side, too. He drew his legs up into himself far as he dared on the chair, feet just over the edge. It felt so good, sitting in a frumpy old chair…

"So is she keepin' it, then?" She knew the Doctor was trying to hide the fact that he was getting comfortable in her mother's flat. He forgot, sometimes, that Rose knew most of his tricks; really, she was more observant than he gave her credit for. Just to keep him happy in his delusion, she paid him no obvious attention. She could see him well enough in her peripheral vision.

"Margaret doesn't know. Not that I asked her, o' course. I never pry."

The Doctor snorted into his wrist as his head grew heavier on his hand. Jackie hadn't heard him, fortunately, and proceeded to tell Rose about "that ginger fella's daughter, Nadine, and Greg the cleaner. You know, Barbara's ex brother-in-law. Greg the cleaner! Only twenty-eight years her senior!"

Rose silently observed to herself that the Doctor was nearly a good nine hundred years older than she was. "Nadine two-years-younger-than-me Nadine?" Rose kept the conversation going as she lifted herself silently from the settee, crossing the living room to gently lift the slowly tipping mug of cold tea from the Doctor's slackened grip. She was met with no resistance, his fingers falling to rest on his leg loosely. Rose analysed his face closely: he was well and truly gone, his breathing slow and deep. He needed a good sleep just to lift those care lines, if anything.

"He asleep?"

"_Yes_! Don't be so loud!" Rose loosened the red Converses and slid them off gingerly, and wasn't that surprised when he instantly tucked his feet under a cushion.

Despite her previous misgivings concerning the Doctor – punctuated by that good slap she had given him nearly two years ago – Jackie Tyler had found herself warming to the man who had taken her daughter away on a fleet of promises. Rose was happier than she had ever been in her new life travelling with him. She had matured and blossomed into an image Jackie barely recognised as the nineteen year old with a department store job and history's clingiest boyfriend. That remained an undeniable fact. But it had worried her senseless when the doorbell had rung and the pair had wondered in. He had edged his way through the doorway, accepting her wet kiss to the cheek without so much as a grimace. She only ever did it to wind him up, and the lack of reaction coupled with his silence while Jackie gossiped with her daughter concerned her. "Where did you go, sweetheart?" she asked softly as Rose settled herself back down next to her mother with a heavy sigh. "What happened?"

She could never tell her mother the full truth about their travels; primarily because she was convinced that Jackie would tie her down in chains and throw her into a pit with cotton wool walls, and quite possibly do something similar to the Doctor. Steal spikes as opposed to cotton came to mind. But her mother did deserve some measure of the truth … she appreciated the worried glances she kept throwing the Doctor's way. "We were attacked by this … thing that fed on nightmares. It's alright," Rose added hastily, seeing her mother's alarmed movement. "He got rid of it. But it was in his head for months, and he's…" Rose nestled her head on her splayed hand, her hair roughed into steaks of gold between her fingers. She watched him for a time. He hadn't so much as twitched. He looked so utterly at peace, and she became painfully aware that she had not seen him so contented in what felt like an age. She smiled wanly to herself. "He's such a bloke, Mum."

~ Fin ~


End file.
